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AN    ACCOUNT 


OF  THE 


HARVARD    GREEK  PLAY. 


BY 


HENRY    NORMAN. 


To  have  seen  a  Grecian  play  is  a  great  remembrance. 

De  Quincey. 


'V 


Off  THE 


IVERSIT 


&IP0 


% 


BOSTON: 

JAMES    R.  OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY. 

1882. 


755  z. 


Copyright,  1881, 
By  Henry  Norman. 
3/33  6 


University  Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


TO 

PROFESSOR  JOHN  WILLIAMS  WHITE, 
irapOevov  <f>L\as  <j)i\q>, 

THIS    VOLUME 
IS    GRATEFULLY    DEDICATED. 


Contents 


Prefatory  Note  by  Professor  W.  W.  Goodwin 


Introduction H 

I.    The  Origin  of  the  Play 16 

II.    Sophocles 20 

III.     "Oedipus  the  King" 29 

IV*.  The  Preparation  of  the  Play    .        .        .        .45 

V.    The  Performances 62 

VI.    In  Retrospect 113 


Appendix  1.    The  Circular  of  the  Committee  .         119 

"         2.    The  Programme 123 

"         3.    A  Bibliography  of  the  Play  .        .         127 


3rUugtratton& 


I.  Oedipus  (Mr.  George  Riddle)       .       to  face  page  22 

II.  Jocasta  (Mr.  L.  E.  Opdycke)  .         .         .         .26 

III.  Creon  (Mr.  Henry  Norman)         .         .         .         .30 

IV.  Teiresias  (Mr.  Curtis  Guild)   ....       34 
V.  The  Shepherd  of  Laius  (Mr.  G.  M.  Lane)       .  42 

VI.  The  Priest  of  Zeus  (Mr.  W.  H.  Manning)    .       50 

tttt  .  rt  (Mr.  E.J.  Wendell) 

VII.  The  Attendants  of  Oedipus  <  ,      ■'«*»,.,     t 56 

(Mr.J.R.Coolidgej 


VIII.    The  Message  from  the  Oracle  at  Delphi,  v.  87  .  70 
IX.    The  Chorus  of  Theban  Elders   ...       72 
X.     Oedipus  appealing  t*o  Teiresias,  v.  315    .        .  76 
XI.    Jocasta's  Entrance  interrupting  the  Quar- 
rel between  Oedipus  and  Creon,  v.  634      .  84 
XII.    The    Shepherd    attempting    to    silence    the 

Messenger  from  Corinth,  v.  1146         .        .94 

XIII.  Oedipus  overwhelmed  at  the  Horror  of  his 

Fate,  v.  1185 .96 

XIV.  Creon  returning  as  King,  v.  1422        .        .     100 
XV.    The  Closing  Scene  of  the  Play,  v.  1523  102 


$ote* 


The  performance  of  the  Oedipus  Tyrannus  of 
Sophocles  in  the  Theatre  of  Harvard  University  in 
May,  1881,  was  a  memorable  event  in  our  quiet 
academic  life.  After  months  of  preparation  and 
anxious  thought,  it  took  us  all  by  surprise.  We 
had  hoped  to  have  a  dignified  academic  perform- 
ance, which  should  give  classical  scholars  a  vivid 
impression  of  one  of  those  tragedies  "  of  stateliest 
argument,"  whose  full  power  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  mere  student,  which  might  revive  pleasant  recol- 
lections in  some  whose  Greek  was  chiefly  a  memory 
of  the  past,  and  which  might  perhaps  also  interest  a 
few  others,  who  would  regard  an  ancient  tragedy,  like 
any  other  ancient  curiosity,  with  kind  and  charita- 
ble consideration.  None  were  more  surprised  at  the 
almost  universal  enthusiasm  which  the  actual  per- 
formance excited  —  none,  indeed,  were  more  surprised 
at  the  effect  of  the  performance  upon  themselves  — 


x  Note. 

than  those  of  us  who  should  have  understood  best 
the  power  and  grandeur  of  a  tragedy  of  Sophocles. 
This  was  due  in  no  small  measure  to  the  scrupulous 
fidelity  with  which  every  one  who  took  part  in  the 
performance  devoted  his  best  strength  to  its  success  ; 
but  it  was  due  also,  and  more  than  to  all  else,  to 
the  native  power  of  Attic  tragedy,  which  suddenly 
revealed  itself,  even  to  those  who  were  ignorant  of  its 
form  and  its  language  alike,  as  a  veritable  "  posses- 
sion for  all  time." 

It  is  eminently  proper  that  the  first  performance 
of  a  Greek  tragedy  in  America  should  be  commem- 
orated in  some  permanent  record ;  and  all  who  were 
interested  in  our  play  will  be  glad  to  know  that  this 
volume  has  been  prepared  for  that  purpose  by  one 
whose  intimate  relations  to  the  play  give  him  a  spe- 
cial right  to  be  its  chronicler. 


W.  W.  GOODWIN. 


Harvard  University, 
December,  1881. 


gjntroDuction. 


£*SC 


[UDDENLY,  in  December  last,  an 
opportunity  dawned  —  a  golden 
opportunity,  gleaming  for  a  mo- 
ment amongst  thick  clouds  of  impossibility 
that  had  gathered  through  three-and-twenty 
centuries  —  for  seeing  a  Grecian  tragedy  pre- 
sented on  a  British  stage,  and  with  the  near- 
est approach  possible  to  the  beauty  of  those 
Athenian  pomps  which  Sophocles,  which 
Phidias,  which  Pericles,  created,  beautified, 
promoted."  These  were  the  words  of  De 
Quincey  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  The 
opportunity  was  eagerly  embraced,  the  trag- 
edy witnessed  with  delight,  and  De  Quincey 


12  IntroDUction. 

concludes  his  essay  of  forty  pages  with  the 
assurance  that  "  it  was  cheap  at  the  price  of 
a  journey  to  Siberia,  and  is  the  next  best 
thing  to  having  seen  Waterloo  at  sunset  on 
the  18th  of  June,  1815,"  and  condenses  his 
deliberate  judgment  in  the  words  which  serve 
as  a  motto  for  the  present  volume.  Such 
unstinted  praise  awarded  to  an  insignificant 
representation  of  the  Antigone  in  English 
may  serve  as  an  apology,  if  one  be  needed, 
for  these  pages.  The  play  of  which  they 
give  an  account  is  the  masterpiece  of  classic 
tragedy  ;  it  was  produced  under  the  auspices 
and  within  the  precincts  of  a  great  univer- 
sity ;  each  detail  of  the  presentation  was  in 
the  charge  of  men  known  for  exact  scholar- 
ship and  literary  taste ;  difficulty  and  expense 
were  alike  disregarded  in  the  effort  to  give 
an  impressive  reproduction  of  an  Athenian 
performance;  seven  months  were  spent  in 
preparation.  The  play  was  witnessed  by 
six  thousand  people ;  on  the  occasion  of  the 


Enttotmctton.  13 

first  performance,  by  an  audience  which,  for 
literary  distinction,  has  probably  never  been 
equalled  in  America ;  many  persons  were 
unable  to  obtain  seats,  although  ten  times 
the  original  price  was  freely  offered ;  it  was 
reported  by  every  considerable  newspaper  in 
the  country,*  and  the  news  of  its  perform- 
ance was  not  only  telegraphed  to  Europe, 
but  was  even  inserted  in  the  local  papers 
there,  so  that  —  owing  to  the  difference  of 
time  —  while  the  strains  of  the  first  choral 
ode  were  ringing  through  the  Sanders  The- 
atre, a  Harvard  man  who  was  studying  in 
Bonn  overheard  a  group  of  German  students 
discussing  it  over  the  Biertisch.  These  facts 
seem  to  call  for  some  permanent  record  and 
description :  it  would  be  unfitting  that  an 
event  at  once  so  unique  in  its  character  and 
productive  of  such  wide-spread  interest  should 
receive  no  other  memorial  than  a  niche  in  the 
limbo  of  pleasant  memories. 

*  See  Appendix  3. 


14  Introduction. 

In  the  statements  concerning  Athenian  art 
and  literature  which  are  necessary  to  the  com- 
prehension of  the  Harvard  Greek  play,  the 
writer  presents  no  claim  to  originality.  To 
the  committee  which  had  charge  of  the  play, 
to  whose  learning  and  exertions  its  success 
was  chiefly  due,  he  desires  to  acknowledge 
his  indebtedness  and  to  express  his  thanks. 

In  addition  to  their  interest  as  portraits  of 
the  principal  characters,  the  illustrations  have 
been  selected  to  exhibit  the  typical  costumes, 
attitudes,  and  incidents  of  the  play.  Their 
number  being  limited,  it  was  necessary  to 
omit  several. portraits  which  might  naturally 
be  expected.  The  groups  and  portraits  are 
reproductions,  by  the  Heliotype  Printing 
Company,  from  negatives  taken  with  great 
success  by  Mr.  James  Notman,  of  Boston, 
except  the  portrait  of  Jocasta  (Mr.  Opdycke), 
which  is  by  Pach.  The  groups  were  photo- 
graphed on  the  stage  of  the  Sanders  Theatre 
with  the  electric  light;    they  are,  therefore, 


Entr0tmctt0tt.  15 

representations  of  the  actual  scenes  of  the 
play.  In  comparison  with  the  portraits, 
which  were  taken  in  sunlight,  they  will 
appear  dark  and  somewhat  indistinct;  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  photographing 
with  the  electric  light  is  attended  with  many 
difficulties  which  are  not  present  in  the  ordi- 
nary process.  These  groups  of  the  Greek 
play,  of  which  eight  are  reproduced  here, 
are  believed  to  constitute  the  most  extensive 
piece  of  photography  of  this  kind  which  has 
yet  been  attempted,  and  reflect  great  credit 
upon  Mr.  Notman. 

The  illustrations  in  the  text  have  been 
drawn,  and  in  several  instances  designed  also, 
by  Mr.  C.  H.  Moore,  Instructor  in  Drawing 
in  Harvard  University.  The  engraving  is  by 
Closson. 


HE  presentation  of  a  Greek  tragedy 
was  no  new  idea  at  Harvard  Uni- 
versity. In  1876  the  Memorial  Hall 
was  completed  by  the  erection  of  the  Sanders 
Theatre,  and  Professor  Goodwin  wished  to 
mark  the  occasion  by  the  performance  of  the 
Antigone  of  Sophocles  in  the  original  Greek. 
After  a  favorable  reception  and  some  dis- 
cussion the  plan  was  abandoned  because  of 
its  many  difficulties.  The  idea  of  a  Harvard 
Greek  play  was  then  allowed  to  lie  in  abey- 
ance, with  an  occasional  allusion  by  some 
enthusiastic  person,  until  the  summer  of  1880. 
In  the  mean  time  the  Agamemnon  of  Aeschy- 
lus had  been  performed  with  signal  success 
by  Oxford  students,  and  had  met  with  the 


Efyz  ©rujm  of  tjje  piag.  17 

warmest  reception  in  London.  Many  ac- 
counts of  the  Oxford  play  and  its  success 
had  come  across  the  ocean  and  had  aroused 
the  dormant  desire  to  produce  a  similar  play 
at  Harvard.  Some  of  the  English  news- 
papers have  alluded  slightingly  to  the  Har- 
vard play  as  another  instance  of  the  "  man- 
ner in  which  America  follows  everything  that 
is  initiated  in  England."  This  is  unjust,  as 
the  idea  had  been  entertained  here  long  be- 
fore the  Agamemnon  was  thought  of  at  Ox- 
ford. On  the  other  hand,  the  assertion  in 
this  country  that  the  Oedipus  at  Harvard 
was  an  entirely  spontaneous  and  independent 
movement,  is  equally  untrue.  We  are  in- 
debted to  England  for  the  immediate  inspi- 
ration and  suggestion  of  the  undertaking ; 
had  there  been  no  Agamemnon  at  Oxford 
there  would  have  been  no  Oedipus  at  Har- 
vard. 

The    awakened   plan   took   shape    at   the 
meetings  of  an  informal    philological   club, 


18  ftfje  ©rtgin  of  %  Pag. 

which  numbered  among  its  members  several 
Harvard  professors.  A  Harvard  Greek  play, 
—  why  not  ?  This  is  not  a  country  where 
ideas  go  a-begging,  so  the  proposal  was  no 
sooner  made  than  it  found  many  warm  sup- 
porters ;  a  few  hearty  discussions  put  it  into 
a  practical  shape  and  removed  such  obstacles 
as  had  presented  themselves,  and  the  opening 
of  the  autumn  term  found  it  a  definite  and 
attractive  scheme.  A  committee  was  formed, 
the  various  divisions  of  the  work  to  be  done 
were  assigned  to  those  most  competent  to 
take  charge  of  them,  and  conferences  were 
held  with  the  students  who  would  probably 
be  invited  to  take  part  in  the  performance. 

With  little  discussion  it  was  decided  to 
attempt  the  Oedipus  Tyrannus  of  Sophocles. 
This  play  was  chosen,  first,  as  the  master- 
piece of  the  classic  stage,  and  as  being  typi- 
cal of  so  many  elements  of  Greek  thought ; 
and  secondly,  because  of  the  significance  of 
its  plot  to  a  modern   mind,  and  the   adap- 


GCjje  ©right  of  tije  Pag. 


19 


tability  of  its  scenic,  details  to  modern  and 
local  conditions. 

The  distribution  of  the  roles  followed  im- 
mediately the  selection  of  the  play  ;  the  cho- 
sen few  bent  themselves  to  their  long  task, 
and  before  the  autumn  term  of  1880  was  a 
month  old,  regular  work  on  the  Greek  play 
had  been  begun. 


II 


ESS  than  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
Athens  stood  the  hill  of  Colonns. 
Its   beauties  have  been  sung   by 
own  poet. 

O  stranger,  thou  hast  reached  the  dwellings  of  a  land 

Where  noble  steeds  are  bred,  —  earth  has  no  better  homes  — 

Colonns,  with  a  gleaming  altar  crowned.     H[ere,  too, 

The  clear-toned  nightingale  pours  forth  her  plaintive  note 

Down  in  green  glades  where  purple  ivy  grows, 

The  ivy  which  she  loves,  and  where  the  thicket  grows 

Sunless,  untrodden,  shaken  by  no  winds,  a  fruit 

Of  myriad  berries  bearing,  sacred  to  the  God. 

There  joyous  Dionysus  wanders  ever 

In  happy  frolic  with  the  Nymphs  who  care  for  him  ; 

And  nourished  by  the  falling  dews  of  heaven  each  day 

The  clustering  narcissus  blooms,  the  ancient  crown 

Of  mighty  Goddesses  ;  and  there  its  golden  head 

The  crocus  shows.     The  sleepless  rills  which  flow 

To  feed  Cephissus'  streams  are  never  dry,  but  with 

Each  day  their  quickening  waters  o'er  earth's  bosom  flow. 

The  chorus  of  the  Muses  does  not  shun  the  spot, 

And  Aphrodite  with  her  golden  reins  is  there. 


Sopl)0ck0.  21 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  dwellers  in  this 
favored  place  were  proud  to  call  themselves 
Coloniatae,  as  well  as  Athenians.  And  an- 
other distinction  was  added  to  Colonus,  which 
was  destined  to  outlast  all  the  rest ;  a  voice 
which  should  ring  out  for  ages  after  the 
sacred  groves  had  changed  to  "  cold,  bare, 
ruin'd  choirs "  ;  a  power  which  should  live 
on  "  to  better  and  convert  mankind  "  when 
Dionysus  had  become  a  dream  and  Athena 
but  a  vision.  It  was  the  birthplace  of 
Sophocles^ 

Never  has  any  people  reached  such  a 
height  of  intellectual  power,  and  left  such  a 
legacy  of  influences  that  will  be  possessions 
forever,  as  did  the  Greeks  in  the  age  of 
Pericles.  To  guard  against  the  suspicion  of 
ungrounded  enthusiasm,  it  may  be  well  to 
recall  the  words  of  a  careful  scientific  investi- 
gator of  men.  Mr.  Francis  Galton,  in  his 
work  on  "  Hereditary  Genius,"  at  the  close 
of  a  discussion  to  establish  the  proposition 


22  &0pj}ocl£0. 

that  "  the  ablest  race  of  whom  history  bears 
record  is  unquestionably  the  ancient  Greek," 
makes  the  following  astonishing  statement: 
"  It  follows  from  all  this  that  the  average 
ability  of  the  Athenian  race  is,  on  the  lowest 
possible  estimate,  very  nearly  two  grades 
higher  than  our  own,  —  that  is,  about  as 
much  as  our  race  is  above  the  African 
negro." 

At  this  time  the  shadow  of  Eastern  suprem- 
acy had  been  dissipated  and  "  the  great 
King"  was  no  longer  spoken  of  with  ter- 
ror. Marathon,  Thermopylae,  and  Salamis, 
names  of  immortal  memory,  were  in  the  im- 
mediate past;  Greek  courage,  one  may  al- 
most say  Athenian  courage,  had  scattered  the 
hosts  of  Persia ;  a  struggle  on  which  the  wel- 
fare of  mankind  depended  had  been  won  for 
the  cause  of  freedom  and  civilization ;  "to 
the  triumph  of  the  Greeks,"  says  Mr.  Sy- 
monds,  "  we  owe  whatever  is  most  great  and 
glorious  in  the  subsequent  achievements  of 


Plate  I. 


>  OP     TRD  ^^ 


V       OP  THE 


UNIVERSITY1 


the  human  race."  Free  from  fear  and  fight- 
ing, Greece  turned  at  once  to  the  develop- 
ment of  its  own  powers  :  of  all  the  cities  of 
Greece,  Athens  was  the  one  which  had  done 
most  for  its  liberation,  and  was  the  first  to 
take  advantage  of  what  had  been  so  bravely 
won.  "  She  who  saved  me,"  was  added  to 
the  attributes  of  Athena.  In  a  few  years 
Athens  reached  that  height  which  has  been 
at  once  the  inspiration  and  the  despair  of 
all  succeeding  civilization.  The  undying 
names  of  Greece  gather  around  Athens  at 
this  moment :  Themistocles,  Aristides,  Peri- 
cles ;  Aeschylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides ;  He- 
rodotus and  Thucydides ;  Phidias,  —  all  these 
may  be  considered  contemporaneous. 

Although  to  write  an  account  of  the  life 
of  Sophocles  has  been  compared  to  the  task 
of  making  bricks  without  straw,  enough  is 
known  about  him  to  have  justified  the  most 
remarkable  eulogies.  The  facts  of  his  life  are 
briefly  as  follows :   He  was  born  at  Colonus 


24  &o$\)odt$i. 

in  495  B.  C,  received  a  complete  and  typical 
education,  and  was  famous  as  a  youth  for 
his  remarkable  beauty.  On  his  first  appear- 
ance as  a  tragic  poet,  in  468  B.  C,  at  the 
festival  commemorating  the  return  of  the 
bones  of  the  Athenian  hero  Theseus,  he 
defeated  his  great  predecessor  Aeschylus. 
During  sixty  years  he  wrote  busily,  com- 
posing a  hundred  and  thirteen  plays,  only 
seven  of  which,  with  some  fragments,  have 
been  preserved.  Although  so  few  in  number, 
it  is  probable  that  the  dramas  which  still  exist 
are  among  the  best  he  wrote  ;  and  represent- 
ing, as  they  do,  both  the  genius  of  Sophocles 
and  the  spirit  of  his  age,  they  are  among'  the 
most  valuable  literary  possessions  of  man- 
kind. His  life  embraced  the  whole  field  of 
human  activity ;  nothing  which  could  teach 
or  strengthen  a  man  seems  to  have  been 
lacking  in  his  experience.  Auspicious  in  its 
opening,  glorious  in  its  course,  his  career 
was   crowned  with  the    blessing  which   the 


&opj)ock0.  25 

Greeks  regarded  as  most  precious,  —  death 
came  before  any  misfortune  had  disfigured 
him.  He  died  in  405  B.  C,  thus  being  spared 
by  one  year  the  sight  of  the  subjection  of  his 
native  city  and  the  beginnings  of  the  down- 
fall of  his  country.  This  fact  is  brought 
prominently  forward  in  the  epitaph  written 
by  Phrynichus,  —  kolXcos  eTeXevTrjcr  ov8ev  vtto- 
/x,aVas  kclkov. 

"  Thrice-happy  Sophocles  !  in  good  old  age, 
Blessed  as  a  man  and  as  a  craftsman  blessed, 
He  died  :  his  many  tragedies  were  fair, 
And  fair  his  end,  nor  knew  he  any  sorrow."  * 

Time  and  place  appear  to  have  found 
their  happiest  combination  in  the  creation 
of  Sophocles ;  this  fact  has  impressed  itself 
upon  almost  every  writer  who  has  treated  of 
him.  Schlegel  says  :  "It  seems  that  a  be- 
neficent Providence  wished  in  this  individual 
to  evince  to  the  human  race  the  dignity  and 
blessedness  of  its  lot,  by  endowing  him  with 
every  divine  gift,  with  all  that  can  adorn  and 

*  Symonds's  translation. 


26  Sopfjocle*. 

elevate  the  mind  and  the  heart,  and  crowning 
him  with  every  imaginable  blessing  in  this 
life."  Mr.  Symonds  writes  :  "  We  cannot 
but  think  of  him  as  specially  created  to  rep- 
resent Greek  art  in  its  most  exquisitely  bal- 
anced perfection.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine 
a  more  plastic  nature,  a  genius  more  adapted 
to  its  special  function,  more  fittingly  provided 
with  all  things  needful  to  its  full  develop- 
ment, born  at  a  happier  moment  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world,  and  more  nobly  endowed 
with  physical  qualities  suited  to  its  intel- 
lectual capacities."  And  again  :  "  We  have 
every  right  to  accept  his  tragedy  as  the 
purest  mirror  of  the  Athenian  mind  at  its 
most  brilliant  period."  With  regard  to  this 
latter  point,  —  the  most  important  in  the 
present  connection,  —  no  judgment  can  be 
of  more  weight  than  that  of  Curtius,  and 
he  gives  forth  no  uncertain  note.  "  The  art 
of  Sophocles  was  a  glorified  exponent  of  the 
spirit  of  Periclean  Athens."  , 


Plate  II. 


V       OP  THE     x-<- 

UNIVERSIT 


Sopfjocles.  27 

It  would  be  easy  to  multiply  these  quota- 
tions. One  more  must  be  given,  both  on 
account  of  its  poetical  beauty  and  of  the 
position  of  its  author.  Matthew  Arnold  re- 
plies to  a  friend, 

"  Who  prop,  thou  ask'st,  in  these  bad  days,  my  mind  1 " 

In  an  age  when  the  material  aspects  of  life 
crowd  out  the  spiritual,  when  art  is  either 
a  memory  or  a  hope,  whom  does  this  man 
of  culture  find  to  guide  and  refresh  him,  to 
prop  his  soul  1  His  answer  is  :  The  blind 
old  Homer  much;  much  the  halting  slave 
Epictetus  ; 

"  But  be  his 
My  special  thanks,  whose  even-balanced  soul,         is 
From  first  youth  tested  up  to  extreme  old  age, 
Business  could  not  make  dull,  nor  passion  wild  ; 
Who  saw  life  steadily,  and  saw  it  whole  ; 
The  mellow  glory  of  the  Attic  stage, 
Singer  of  sweet  Colonus,  and  its  child." 

So,  of  the  hosts  of  prophets  and  preachers, 
of  singers  and  workers,  the  one  to  whom  this 


28 


&0pf)0Cl£0. 


man  of  trained  mind  and  pure  spirit  looks 
"in  these  bad  days"  is  Sophocles. 

After  what  has  been  said  of  the  genius  and 
/      representative  character  of  Sophocles,  nothing 
need  be  added  to  show  the  wisdom  of  select- 
ing his  composition  for  performance  at  Har- 
vard. 


&IF0# 


in. 


EFORE  any  account  of  the  play 
itself  can  be  given,  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  Greek  tragedy 
in  general  must  be  briefly  stated.  The  most 
prominent  of  these  is  a  fundamental  religious 
character.  In  this  respect  a  Greek  tragedy 
may  be  compared  to  the  passion-plays  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  The  legend  upon  which 
it  was  based  was  as  familiar  to  the  Greek 
spectator  as  the  story  of  the  Passion  is  to 
a  modern  churchman.  Many  of  the  legends 
were  derived  from  Homer,  whose  poems 
formed  the  bible  of  the  Greeks.  This 
would  suffice  to  lend  a  solemn  interest  to 
the  representation  of  them;  and  when  we 
consider  the  additional  facts  that  the  tragic 
drama  was  filled  with  the  expression  of  feel- 


30  ©etJtpus  tjje  Emg. 

ings  of  intense  patriotism,  and  that  it  was  the 
embodiment  of  the  loftiest  moral  conceptions 
of  the  age,  the  sacred  character  of  the  per- 
formances becomes  clear.  In  the  tragedies 
of  Aeschylus  the  nobility  of  mankind  is 
pictured  in  the  Gods ;  Sophocles  struck  the 
key-note  of  subsequent  Greek  sentiment  by 
exhibiting  the  supreme  characteristics  of  man- 
kind in  men  themselves.  This  prompted  the 
saying  that  Euripides  portrays  men  as  they 
are,  Sophocles,  as  they  ought  to  be.  He  stood 
midway  between  the  theologic  vastness  of 
Aeschylus  and  the  commonplaceness  —  using 
the  word  in  no  bad  sense  —  of  Euripides. 
Hence  his  ethical  strength  and  the  immor- 
tal inspiration  of  his  verse,  —  iravri  pecra)  to 
KpaTos  debs  toiracrev. 

When  these  masterpieces  of  tragedy  were 
produced  there  were  few  readers  in  Athens, 
but  many  hearers.  The  costs  of  the  perform- 
ance were  divided  between  the  state  and 
some  wealthy  and  aspiring  citizen.      There 


Plate   III. 


\>*   Qff  THE        -^ 

u  ::vsrsity: 


•IFQV$& 


©dn'puis  tjje  3&tng.  31 

was  a  "  theoric  fund n  from  which  the  en- 
trance-fee was  supplied  to  poor  citizens.  The 
great  Dionysiac  festival,  celebrated  once  a 
year,  was  the  occasion  of  the  performance ; 
thirty  thousand  people,  citizens,  —  men  and 
women,  —  priests,  strangers,  and  ambassa- 
dors, formed  an  audience  from  whose  size 
the  significance  of  the  event  may  be  under- 
stood. The  highest  honors  were  bestowed 
upon  the  successful  dramatist,  and  all  the  at- 
tendant circumstances  united  with  the  great- 
ness of  the  plays  themselves  to  render  the 
performance  an  occasion  of  intense  interest. 

The  Sanders  Theatre  at  Cambridge  some- 
what resembles  the  classic  theatre  in  shape. 
The  stage  is  long  and  narrow,  open  at  the 
sides  and  top ;•  while  the  seats  form  a  series 
of  concentric  semicircles,  one  above  another. 
Although  the  building  does  not  compare  in 
size  or  dignity  with  the  Greek  theatre,  it  is 
equally  removed  from  the  ugly  outlines  and 
tawdry  decorations  of  the  modern  playhouse. 


32  ©rtupua  tfje  Ems. 

There  is  no  place  in  this  country  in  which 
a  Greek  tragedy  conld  be  performed  with 
less  apparent  anachronism. 

The  theatre  of  Dionysus  at  Athens  was 
built  upon  the  southern  slope  of  the  hill  of 
the  Acropolis,  and  was  entirely  open  to  the 
sky,  an  arrangement  natural  in  such  a  fair 
and  regular  climate  as  that  of  Greece.  The 
plays  were  performed  in  broad  daylight,  and 
this  open-air  reality  added  great  force  to  the 
scenes.  Many  features  of  the  famous  Attic 
landscape  were  in  sight,  and  the  actor  could 
make  them  the  subjects  of  telling  gesture. 
The  noble  farewell  of  Ajax  illustrates  the 
opportunities  of  this  kind. 

"  And  thee  I  call,  thou  light  of  golden  day, 
Thou  Sun,  who  drivest  on  thy  glorious  car, 
Thee,  for  this  last  time,  never  more  again. 
O  Light,  O  sacred  land  that  was  my  home  ; 
O  Salamis,  where  stands  my  father's  hearth, 
Thou  glorious  Athens,  with  thy  kindred  race  ; 
Ye  streams  and  rivers  here,  and  Troia's  plains, 
To  you  that  fed  my  life  I  bid  farewell  ; 
This  last,  last  word  does  Ajax  speak  to  you  ; 
All  else  I  speak  in  Hades  to  the  dead." 


©rtu'pua  tfje  Htnfl.  33 

A  speech  like  this,  full  of  allusions  to 
familiar  and  beloved  places,  delivered  with 
gestures  suggesting  the  position  of  each,  and 
concluding  with  the  death  of  the  speaker, 
must  have  produced  a  profound  impression. 

The  spectators  frequently  numbered  twen- 
ty-five thousand,  sitting  on  semicircular  tiers 
of  stone  seats,  built  one  above  another.  Front 
seats  were  reserved  for  priests,  magistrates, 
and  distinguished  strangers.  The  space  cor- 
responding to  the  modern  pit  was  left  open, 
and  in  the  middle  stood  the  altar,  or  Ovixihq, 
around  which  the  Chorus  performed  its  sacred 
dance  and  sung  the  choral  odes.  The  stage 
was  long  and  narrow,  the  back  represent- 
ing in  most  cases  a  palace,  which  was  con- 
structed, not  merely  painted.  The  actors 
wore  masks  with  strongly  defined  features 
indicating  the  characters  they  were  playing. 
These  masks  were  necessary  to  render  the  face 
visible  at  a  great  distance ;  they  expressed 
the  nobility  of  Gods  and  heroes,  and  made  it 


34  ©efcfpus  tf)e  Ittng. 

possible  for  one  actor  to  play  several  parts. 
It  is  probable  that  the  masks  contained  ap- 
pliances to  increase  the  volume  of  the  voice. 
Very  thick-soled  shoes  were  worn  to  give 
heroic  stature,  and  every  article  of  dress 
was  so  adjusted  as  to  add  to  the  appearance 
of  strength  and  dignity.  The  female  parts 
were  played  by  men.  It  is  important  to 
remember  that  the  stage  right,  that  is,  the 
entrance  to  the  left  of  the  spectators,  was 
supposed  to  lead  to  foreign  parts ;  the  stage 
left,  to  the  city,  or  the  home  of  the  person 
concerned. 

The  most  striking  and  original  feature  of 
the  Greek  drama  is  the  Chorus.  As  em- 
ployed by  Sophocles  this  consists  of  fif- 
teen persons,  their  character  varying  with 
the  circumstances  of  the  play,  but  gener- 
ally corresponding  to  the  leading  part.  Tims 
in  the  Oedipus  the  Chorus  is  composed  of 
Theban  elders.  The  function  of  the  Chorus 
is  that  of  a  commentary  on   the  play :  the 


I'LVIT.    IV 


action  of  a  play  is  given  by  the  actors  -r  the 
reflection  of  a  play  is  given  by  the  Chorus. 
They  pour  forth  thanksgiving  or  supplica- 
tions to  the  Gods ;  through  their  leader,  the 
Coryphaeus,  they  address  the  personages  of 
the  tragedy  to  calm  impetuosity  or  to  give 
courage ;  they  utter  philosophic  odes  sug- 
gested by  the  virtues  or  vices,  the  success 
or  misfortune,  of  the  characters.  All  these 
functions  are  beautifully  exhibited  in  the 
Oedipus. 

OlSlttovs  Tvpawosj  variously  translated 
"  Oedipus  Tyrannus,"  "  Oedipus  Rex,"  and 
"  Oedipus  the  King,"  is  generally  consid- 
ered the  masterpiece  of  classic  tragedy  ;  it 
exhibits,  says  Professor  Lewis  Campbell, 
"  the  perfect  development  of  the  various 
elements  of  Greek  tragic  art."  Aristotle 
numbers  it  among  at  KaWicrTai  TpaycpSiou, 
and  indeed  he  may  be  said  to  regard  it  as  ^ 
the  type  of  a  perfect  play,'  since  he  sup- 
ports   most    of    his    views    on    tragedy    by 


36  ©etitpus  tjje  %in%. 

quotations  from  it.  The  universality  of  its 
portrayal  of  men  and  morals  —  in  a  word, 
its  supremely  human  character  —  has  caused 
it  to  be  imitated  and  translated  many  times. 
Beside  many  classic  imitations,  Corneille, 
Voltaire,  La  Motte,  and  Dry  den  have  each 
written  his  Oedipus,  and  a  modern  French 
translation  has  just  been  j:>roduced  at  the 
Theatre  FranQais.  Perhaps  the  most  sur- 
prising feature  of  the  performance  at  Harvard 
was  the  impression  left  upon  the  spectators. 
Although  the  majority  of  them  were  unable 
to  follow  the  Greek,  and  were  not  entirely 
familiar  with  the  Greek  point  of  view,  still 
the  characters  appealed  to  them  so  strongly, 
and  the  ethical  situation  was  so  overwhelm- 
ing, that  they  listened  with  bated  breath 
and  separated  in  silence.  The  old  Greek 
spirit  of  the  tragedy  took  so  deep  a  hold 
upon  *the  more  thoughtful  portion  of  the 
audience  that  even  now,  several  months 
afterwards,  an  allusion  to  the  play  is  suffi- 


©etripus  tje  lUng,  37 

cient  to  cause  a  change  in  the  tone  of  the 
conversation. 

In  the  northern  part  of  Boeotia  stood  the 
ever-famous  city  of  Thebes.  Of  all  Greek 
cities  it  was  richest  in  its  legendary  past, 
and  its  greatness  was  not  diminished  in  his- 
toric times.  It  was  the  birthplace  of  Diony- 
sus and  Hercules,  the  seven-gated  city  ov  Srj 
ixovov  tiktovctlv  al  OvrjTal  Oeovs ;  within  its 
streets  the  strains  of  Amphionic  music  were 
first  heard  ;  its  varying  fortunes  furnished 
themes  to  all  the  poets.  There,  in  mythi- 
cal, heroic  times,  the  scene  of  the  Oedipus 
is  laid.  Many  years  before  the  period  upon 
which  the  play  opens,  Laius  had  been  king 
of  Thebes.  He  had  taken  for  his  wife  Jo- 
casta,  the  daughter  of  Menoeceus,  but  no 
children  had  been  born  to  them,  —  in  Greek 
eyes  a  sure  sign  of  the  displeasure  of  the 
Gods.  In  order  to  receive  counsel  and  aid, 
or  to  escape  punishment,  there  was  in  those 


38  ©etu'pus  tije  Iting. 

days  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  and  Laius  in 
his  sorrow  followed  the  usual  pious  custom. 
He  betook  himself  to  the  powerful  shrine  of 
Apollo  at  Delphi,  praying  the  God  to  grant 
that  the  race  of  the  Labdacidae  might  not 
perish.  His  prayer  was  granted,  but  with  a. 
fearful  addition.  This  is  the  answer  of  the 
oracle  as  versified  by  a  late  writer :  — 

"Laios,  Labdacos'  son,  thou  askest  for  birth  of  fair  offspring  ; 
Lo !   I  will  give  thee  a  son,  but  know  that  Destiny  orders 
That  thou  by  the  boy's  hand  must  die,  for  so  to  the  curses  of 

Pelops, 
Whom  of  his  son  thou  hast  robbed,  Zeus,  son  of  Kronos,  hath 

granted, 
And  he,  in  his  trouble  of  heart,  called  all  this  sorrow  upon 

thee."  * 

Accordingly  a  son  was  born  to  the  unhappy 
pair ;  but  Laius,  thinking  to  escape  the  terri- 
ble doom,  ordered  his  wife  Jocasta  to  cause  it 
to  be  left  to  perish  in  the  mountains.  By  the 
mother's  directions  the  ankles  of  the  child 
were  pierced  and  tied  together  with  a  thong, 

*  Plumptre's  translation. 


totpus  tje  l&mg,  39 

and  it  was  given  to  a  shepherd  to  be  hung 
ii])  to  die  on  a  tree  in  the  most  desolate  part 
of  Mount  Cithaeron.  The  additional  cruelty 
of  boring  the  child's  ankles  was  to  make 
its'  death  doubly  sure,  since  even  if  some 
tender-hearted  traveller  should  chance  upon 
the  hiding-place,  he  would  be  unlikely,  as 
a  Greek,  to  rescue  and  rear  a  cripple.  The 
shepherd,  however,  took  the  dangerous  course 
of  disobeying  the  royal  command,  and  gave 
the  babe  to  a  Corinthian  herdsman  with 
whom  he  was  accustomed  to  share  the  pas- 
ture. This  man  carried  the  boy  to  Polybus 
and  Merope,  the  king  and  queen  of  Corinth, 
who,  being  childless,  reared  it  as  their  own 
son.  The  only  trace  of  his  mother's  cruelty 
remained  in  the  swollen  feet,  and  from  this 
peculiarity  the  name  OiSinovs —  " swell-foot" 
—  was  given  to  him.  The  boy  thus  born 
under  a  curse,  thus  cruelly  condemned,  and 
thus  miraculously  saved,  —  a  veritable  7rai9 
rvxrjs,  as  he  afterwards  called  himself,  —  is 


40  ©etJipug  tfje  Etng. 

the  famous  Oedipus  of  Tlieban  legend  and 
the  hero  of  the  Sophoclean  tragedy. 

Oedipus  grew  to  manhood  at  the  court  of 
Corinth,  never  doubting  that  he  was  the  true 
son  of  Polybus  and  Merope,  until  one  day  a 
drunken  comrade  taunted  him  with  the  un- 
certainty of  his  birth.  Early  on  the  morrow 
Oedipus  besought  his  supposed  parents  to 
deny  this  uncertainty  and  to  prove  him  their 
son.  A  vague  answer  and  the  punishment  of 
the  babbler  did  not  satisfy  him,  and,  being 
unable  to  learn  the  trutli  at  home,  he  too 
journeyed  to  the  Delphian  Apollo.  The  an- 
swer to  the  father  had  been  terrible,  but 
the  curse  lived,  and  the  answer  to  the  son 
was  more  terrible  still.  Many  years  later 
Oedipus  gave  this  account  of  what  the  oracle 
told  him :  — 

"The  God 
Sent  me  forth  shamed,  unanswered  in  my  quest ; 
And  other  thiugs  he  spake,  dread,  dire,  and  dark, 
That  I  should  join  in  wedlock  with  my  mother, 
Beget  a  brood  that  men  should  loathe  to  look  at, 
Be  murderer  of  the  father  that  begot  me." 


©etifpus  tjje  3&mg.  41 

Overwhelmed  by  this  most  frightful  fate, 
Oedipus  determined  never  to  return  to  Corinth 
nor  to  see  Polybus  and  Merope  again,  thus 
imitating  his  father's  attempt  to  prove  the  God 
a  liar,  —  and  with  as  much  success.  Quit- 
ting Delphi  he  chose  a  road  of  which  he  knew 
nothing  except  that  it  led  away  from  Corinth. 
Following  it,  he  came  to  a  spot  where  three 
ways  met,  the  road  leading  from  Delphi 
branching  towards  Boeotia  and  towards  Dau- 
lia.  This  spot,  where  the  ills  of  Oedipus 
began,  became  famous  under  the  name  of 
rj  crxL(TTV  oSos,  —  the  Divided  Way ;  in  the 
second  century  A.  D.  the  traveller  Pausanias 
saw  the  heaps  of  stones  supposed  to  cover 
the  bodies  of  the  men  whom  Oedipus  slew. 
There  in  the  narrow  pass  Oedipus  met  an 
old  man  travelling  in  a  chariot  drawn  by 
colts.  It  was  Laius,  once  more  on  his  way 
to  Delphi ;  thus  father  and  son  strangely  met. 
The  attendant  leading  the  animals  shouldered 
the  dusty  wayfarer  from  the  path.     Oedipus 


42  ©rtu'pua  tlje  SU'ng. 

turned  in  anger  and  struck  him.  The  old 
man  watched  his  opportunity,  and  with  his 
goad  dealt  Oedipus  a  blow  on  the  head. 
The  anger  of  Oedipus  then  became  uncon- 
trollable, —  KTtiva)  Se  tovs  fv/x7ra^ra9,  he 
says  when  describing  the  occurrence ;  "  I 
slew  them  every  one."  Following  the  road 
he  had  blindly  chosen,  he  came  to  the  vicin- 
ity of  Thebes,  where  a  still  more  surprising 
adventure  awaited  him.  On  the  lofty  high- 
way leading  to  the  city,  the  Sphinx,  a  mon- 
ster with  the  face  of  a  woman,  the  wings 
of  a  bird,  and  the  tail  and  claws  of  a  lion, 
had  stationed  herself ;  she  seized  every  one 
who  passed,  and  demanded  the  solution  of  an 
enigma.  Those  who  failed  to  find  it  —  and 
no  one  had  succeeded  —  were  hurled  from 
the  rock  where  she  dwelt.  In  Oedipus  she 
met  her  match ;  the  riddle  was  no  sooner 
propounded  than  it  was  solved,  and  the 
Sphinx  cast  herself  down  and  perished  among 
her   victims.     Arriving   at   Thebes,   Oedipus 


Plate  W . 


V 


$ 


10^$1 


OF  THR 


UNIVSKS1T 


OIF 


^ilFOtf 


©etiipus  tjje  &tnrj.  43 

found  it  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  excitement 
and  terror.  The  ravages  of  the  monster  had 
threatened  to  devastate  the  city,  and  in  des- 
peration Creon,  the  successor  of  Laias  as 
king  of  Thebes,  had  offered  his  crown  and 
the  hand  of  his  widowed  sister  Jocasta  to 
any  one  who  should  destroy  the  Sphinx. 
Ignorant  alike  of  the  peril  and  the  promise, 
Oedipus  had  accomplished  this ;  he  was  conse- 
quently hailed  as  saviour  by  the  grateful  The- 
bans  and  received  the  double  reward.  Then 
came  years  of  joy  and  prosperity  ;  four  chil- 
dren were  born  to  the  unsuspecting  king ; 
honored  as  a  heaven-sent  ruler,  and  happy 
as  a  husband  and  father,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  he  forgot  the  days  of  fearful  oracles  and 
aimless  wanderings.  But  the  greater  the  fan- 
cied security  the  more  dreadful  the  awaken- 
ing to  bitter  reality ;  and  the  awakening  soon 
came.  A  plague  fell  upon  the  famous  city, 
the  crops  were  blighted  and  the  children 
were  perishing.     This  was  the  beginning  of 


44 


©etitpus  tfje  Ittng. 


the  end,  and  with  it  the  tragedy  of  Oedipus 
the  King  opens. 

An  account  of  the  movement  of  the  play- 
will  be  necessarily  interwoven  with  the  de- 
scription of  the  performance.  The  preceding 
remarks  and  detailed  narrative  are  designed 
to  suggest  to  the  reader  the  point  of  view  of 
a  Greek  spectator,  and  therefore  to  aid  in  the 
appreciation  of  this  wonderful  play.  Won- 
derful, for  it  exhibits  an  unparalleled  union 
of  artistic  accuracy  and  moral  power. 

"  So  write  a  book  shall  mean,  beyond  the  facts, 
Suffice  the  eye,  and  save  the  sold  beside." 


PH^ 


[UNIVERSITY, 


IV. 


E  must  now  return  from  Thebes  to 
Cambridge,  and  resume  the  narra- 
tive at  the  point  where  it  was  left 
at  the  close  of  the  Introduction. 

As  soon  as  a  decision  was  reached,  the 
professors  of  the  Greek  department  of  the 
University  undertook  the  work  of  arrange- 
ment and  direction.  To  describe  the  services 
of  each  of  these  gentlemen  would  be  to 
introduce  matter  of  too  personal  a  nature ; 
it  must  suffice  to  place  their  names  upon  rec- 
ord as  those  of  the  persons  to  whom  the  suc- 
cess of  the  play  was  mainly  due.  Professor 
W.  W.  Goodwin,  Professor  J.  W.  White,  and 
Professor  Louis  Dyer  were  untiring  in  their 
labors,  and  Professor  Charles  Eliot  Norton 
lent  encouragement  and  suggestion. 


46  Cfje  Preparation  of  tjje  piag. 

From  the  first  the  necessity  of  original 
music  for  the  play  had  been  evident,  and 
the  work  of  composing  it  was  undertaken 
by  Professor  J.  K.  Paine.  The  task  of  writ- 
ing music  to  the  choruses  of  Sophocles  — 
music  which  should  preserve  the  original 
metres  and  embody  the  Greek  sentiment 
expressed  in  them  —  was  a  very  hard  one. 
Little  is  known  about  the  music  of  the 
Greeks  ;  it  is  not  probable,  however,  that  a 
race  which  exhibited  the  ultimate  application 
of  the  principles  of  several  of  the  arts  would 
remain  contented  with  a  barbaric  music.  In 
this  modern  performance  tw^o  courses  were 
open  :  the  one,  an  attempt  to  discover  the 
limitations  of  the  Greek  knowledge  of  mu- 
sic, and  to  compose,  within  those  limitations, 
an  adequate  representation  of  the  simpler 
emotions  of  the  play ;  the  other,  to  dis- 
regard the  historical  method,  and  to  apply 
all  the  wealth  of  modern  harmony  and  in- 
strumentation to  the  expression,  to  a  mod- 


Wfyt  Preparation  of  tfje  piag.  47 

ern  mind,  of  the  varied  and  profound  emo- 
tions which  the  Oedipus  would  rouse  in  a 
Greek  breast.  By  the  former  course,  the 
metrical  structure  of  the  choral  odes  would 
have  been  preserved,  and  consequently  an 
imitation  of  the  Greek  orchestic  movements 
would  have  been  possible ;  these  advantages 
would  have  been  offset  by  the  dulness  and 
monotony  of  the  music.  By  the  latter  course, 
while  strict  classical  accuracy  would  be  lost, 
there  would  be  the  great  advantage  of  an 
additional  sympathetic  presentation  of  the 
great  sentiments  of  the  tragedy.  Of  these 
two  courses  Professor  Paine  chose  the  latter ; 
and  although  there  is  undoubtedly  room  for 
regret  that  owing  to  the  intricacy  of  modern 
musical  composition  the  metres  were  ob- 
scured and  the  sacred  dances  so  simplified 
as  to  be  unrecognizable,  still  the  music 
ranked  so  high  as  a  work  of  modern  art, 
and  added  so  greatly  to  the  comprehen- 
sion of  the   situations  and  therefore  to  the 


48 


2Tf)£  Preparation  of  tfje  piag. 


profit  of  the  audiences,  that  the  final  verdict 
must  be  one  of  satisfaction  and  gratitude. 
Professor  Paine's  work  has  been  received 
with  unqualified  approval :  the  critic  of 
the  "  Nation "  ventured  to  prophesy  that 
it  will  be  "  interesting  to  future  generations 
as  one  of  the  landmarks  in  the  history  of 
musical  art." 

After  the  organization  of  the  Harvard  man- 
agers, the  details  were  arranged  with  great 
rapidity.  The  play  was  finally  cast  as  fol- 
lows *  :  — 


Oedipus   .... 
^The  Priest  of  Zeus 

Creon       .... 

Teiresias  .... 
j/iTocasta     .... 

First  Messenger     . 
-^The  Shepherd  of  Laius 
^  Second  Messenger 


Mr.  George  Riddle. 
Mr.  W.  H.  Manning. 
Mr.  Henry  Norman. 
Mr.  Curtis  Guild. 
Mr.  L.  E.  Opdycke. 
Mr.  A.  W.  Roberts. 
Mr.  G.  M.  Lane. 
Mr.  Owen  Wister. 


*  According  to  classic  custom  the  characters  are  placed  in 
the  order  in  which  they  speak. 


2Ejje  Preparation  of  tfje  $lag.  49 

The  role  of  Creon  was  originally  assigned 
to  Mr.  J.  R.  Howe ;  he  was  compelled  by  a 
severe  illness  to  relinquish  it. 

The  dramatic  chorus  was  composed  of 
members  of  the  Harvard  Glee  Club,  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

First  Tenors  :     Mr.  L.  B.  McCagg,  Coryphaeus. 
Mr.  N.  M.  Brigham. 
Mr.  P.  J.  Eaton. 
Mr.  Howard  Lilienthal. 

Second  Tenors  :  Mr.  W.  P.  Davis. 
Mr.  J.  S.  How. 
Mr.  Gustavus  Tuckerman. 

First  Basses  :      Mr.  F.  R.  Burton. 
Mr.  H.  G.  Chapin. 
Mr.  M.  H.  Cushing. 
Mr.  C.  S.  Hamlin. 

Second  Basses  :  Mr.  Sumner  Coolidge. 
Mr.  Morris  Earle. 
Mr.  C.  F.  Mason. 
Mr.  E.  P.  Mason. 

Rehearsals  commenced  immediately  after 
these   selections    were    made.      Mr.    George 


50  Qfyt  Preparation  of  fte  piag. 

Riddle  was  Instructor  in  Elocution  in  Har- 
vard University,  and  under  his  direction 
the  actors  began  the  study  of  their  parts. 
The  beginning  was  made  by  learning  the 
accurate  pronunciation  and  accentuation  of 
the  lines,  and  in  this  each  man  was  care- 
fully trained  by  the  professors.  The  lines 
were  then  committed  to  memory,  a  scene 
at  a  time.  Each  scene  was  put  in  rehearsal 
as  soon  as  it  was  committed.  The  men 
received  minute  instruction  with  regard  to 
voice,  gesture,  position,  entrances  and  exits, 
and  all  the  usual  technicalities  of  the  stage. 
It  was  not  long  before  every  man  knew 
his  lines  and  was  fairly  familiar  with  the 
other  details  of  his  part. 

The  progress  of  the  work  was  marked 
by  various  steps  in  its  development.  First, 
the  rehearsals  were  transferred  from  the  hall 
where  elocution  is  studied  to  the  stage  of 
the  Sanders  Theatre.  This  seemed  at  the 
time    an    alarming    advance.      Then    came 


Plate  VI 


8%t  preparation  of  tfje  Pag.  51 

the  first  rehearsal  of  actors  and  Chorus 
together.  It  was  a  memorable  day  when 
the  costumes  arrived,  and  the  scene  at  the 
opening  of  the  trunks  was  one  not  to  be 
forgotten.  There  were  vivid  exclamations 
of  delight  from  some  favored  man  who 
found  himself  in  possession  of  a  ^crimson 
and  gold-embroidered  robe  ;  then  a  shout 
of.  laughter  as  one  of  the  mutae  personae 
(anglice,  supernumeraries)  was  discovered 
contemplating  with  rueful  visage  a  tunic 
apparently  only  a  few  inches  long ;  there 
was  the  comical  appearance  of  some  man 
trying  on  his  7reracro9,  and  the  council  of 
war  over  several  pieces  of  stuff  measuring 
five  feet  by  twelve,  —  were  they  curtains,  or 
t/xarial  Then  some  one  discovered  the  san- 
dals of  Jocasta,  delicately  wrapped  in  tissue- 
paper,  and  much  masculine  wit  was  expended 
upon  them. 

These  costumes  were  prepared  under  the 
supervision  of  Mr.   F.  D.  Millet,   who   had 


52  2Tf)e  Preparation  of  tfjc  piag. 

made  a  prolonged  study  of  costume  from 
the  historical  and  artistic  points  of  view. 
Each  dress  was  the  subject  of  detailed  con- 
sideration, with  regard  to  historical  accu- 
racy, the  figure  of  the  wearer,  the  appro- 
priateness to  the  station  he  was  supposed 
to  occupy,  and  even  the  color-composition 
of  the  scenes  in  which  he  took  part.  The 
performance  was  consequently  a  spectacle  of 
the  highest  order.  During  the  last  month  of 
preparation  Mr.  Millet  was  present  at  many 
of  the  rehearsals,  and  was  indefatigable  in 
his  efforts  to  make  each  man  appreciate  the 
character  and  capabilities  of  his  costume. 
In  an  excellent  account  of  the  costumes  of 
the  play*  he  gives  great  credit  to  the  actors. 
"The  experience  of  the  Harvard  students 
proved  how  easy  it  is  to  master  the  use  of 
this  apparently  complicated  and  troublesome 
article  of  attire,"  —  the  outer  robe  or  t^arto^. 
"  After  a  few  trials  the  students,  or  most  of 

*  The  "Century  Magazine,"  November,  1881. 


^       t 

W$z  preparation  at  tje  Pag.  53 

them  at  least,  made  up  their  minds  which 
throw  they  preferred,  and  the  variety  was 
left  to  their  choice.  Many  of  them,  after  a 
very  little  practice,  wore  their  costumes  with 
ease  and  Satisfaction,  and  learned  to  arrange 
them  without  ^assistance."  From  the  first  it 
was  decided  tcf  be  an  exceedingly  comforta- 
ble dress,  ancL  r^uch  less  troublesome  than 
had  been  supposed."  Every  man  who  took 
part  knows  that  whatever  skill  in  this  respect 
he  acquired  was  owing  to  Mr.  Millet's  taste 
and  inexhaustible  good-nature. 

To  commit  to  memory  three  hundred 
Greek  verses  and  a  complicated  musical 
accompaniment  was  a  difficult  task,  yet  it 
was  accomplished  by  every  member  of  the 
Chorus.  The  musical  rehearsals  were  in  part 
conducted  by  Mr.  G.  A.  Burdett,  a  gentleman 
who  subsequently  graduated  with  the  highest 
honors  in  music,  and  who  rendered  valuable 
assistance  to  Professor  Paine  in  the  labors 
of  preparation. 


54  2T{je  Preparation  of  tfje  piajj. 

From  time  to  time,  as  new  scenes  were 
mastered,  a  small  company  would  be  gath- 
ered at  the  house  of  one  of  the  gentlemen 
connected  with  the  University,  and  the  play 
so  far  as  learned  would  be  rehearsed.  These 
entertainments  were  excellent  breaks  between 
the  strict  privacy  of  the  regular  rehearsals 
and  the  publicity  of  the  performances,  and 
are  among  the  most  pleasant  memories  of 
the  time. 

The  first  partial  rehearsals  were  held 
toward  the  end  of  October,  1880;  for  five 
months  they  occurred  three  or  four  times  a 
week ;  for  the  six  weeks  preceding  the  per- 
formances there  was  a  rehearsal  every  day. 
At  last  the  time  came  when  an  authoritative 
public  announcement  of  the  undertaking  was 
necessary ;  previous  to  this  the  newspapers 
had  contained  only  vague  and  often  extrava- 
gant statements.  The  committee  therefore 
issued  a  circular  *  which  was  published  in  the 

*  Appendix  1. 


&f)e  Preparation  of  tfje  piag.  55 

leading  newspapers  and  forwarded  to  those 
whose  support  might  be  expected.  The  an- 
swers exceeded  the  highest  expectations  of 
all  concerned;  from  all  over  the  country 
came  letters  of  inquiry  and  congratulation. 
Eighteen  hours  before  the  time  appointed 
for  the  opening  of  the  sale  a  line  of  men 
representing  people  who  desired  to  buy  tick- 
ets for  their  own  use,  or  to  speculate  in 
them,  was  formed  in  front  of  the  University 
Bookstore  in  Cambridge.  Every  ticket  was 
taken  in  half  an  hour  after  the  sale  began. 
A  similar  spectacle  was  witnessed  on  each 
occasion  when  additional  performances  were 
announced.  Tickets  were  afterwards  pur- 
chased of  speculators  for  five,  ten,  and  fif- 
teen dollars.  On  the  day  before  the  last 
performance,  when  it  was  distinctly  under- 
stood that  the  play  would  not  be  repeated 
under  any  circumstances,  the  proprietor  of 
the  largest  ticket-agency  in  Boston  tele- 
graphed to  Cambridge  offering  twenty  dol- 


56  &fyt  Preparation  of  tjje  piag. 

lars  apiece  for  as  many  tickets  as  could  be 
obtained.  In  a  few  instances  prices  much 
higher  than  this  are  known  to  have  been 
paid. 

The  following  item,  with  the  editorial  com- 
ment, from  the  " Harvard  Daily  Echo"  of 
May  14,  1881,  needs  no  explanation :  — 

"  Prof.  J.  W.  White  will  be  glad  to  see  all  mem- 
bers of  the  University  who  are  not  provided  with 
tickets  to  any  performance  of  the  Greek  Play,  on 
Saturday,  at  10  a.m.,  in  Sever  37,  when  he  will  fur- 
nish them  with  tickets  to  the  dress  rehearsal.  No 
tickets  will  be  sold  for  the  rehearsal." 

"  The  managers  of  the  Greek  Play  have  shown  that 
it  is  their  intention  to  give  every  student  an  opportu- 
nity of  witnessing  at  least  one  performance,  and  they 
have  thus  silenced  the  only  objection  that  has  been 
made  to  their  management." 

The  interest  of  the  public  was  now  thor- 
oughly aroused,  and  the  anxieties  and  hopes 
of  the  few  were  shared  by  the  many.     The 


Plvti.:  VII 


&&e  Preparation  of  tjje  Pag.  57 

following  extract  from  the  "Boston  Daily 
Advertiser "  may  serve  as  an  example  of 
the  notices  that  appeared  constantly :  — 

"  The  Greek  Play  to  be  produced  next  Tuesday 
evening  creates  the  greatest  excitement  in  Harvard 
circles.  .  .  .  Bequests  for  extra  performances  have 
been  received  from  all  parts  of  the  State,  and  liberal 
offers  have  come  from  New  York  for  the  play  to  be 
given  there.  Tuesday  night  will  decide  its  success, 
and  whether  these  offers  can  be  accepted.  The  labor 
of  production  has  been  gigantic,  and  in  every  way 
deserving  of  a  brilliant  return." 

The  long  period  of  preparation  closed  with 
the  dress  rehearsal.  This  occurred  on  Satur- 
day evening,  May  14th?  and  was  in  all  re- 
spects similar  to  the  regular  performances, 
except  that  no  tickets  were  sold,  and  that  the 
representatives  of  the  press  were  admitted  on 
the  condition  that  it  should  not  be  reported. 
As  the  dress  rehearsal  was  private,  no  account 
of  it  will  be  given.     The  following  extracts 


58  &iie  Preparation  of  tfje  Pag. 

from  newspapers  representing  different  sec- 
tions of  the  country  will  show  the  interest 
with  which  it  was  watched,  and  the  general 
verdict. 

From  the  "  Boston  Daily  Advertiser  "  :  — 

"A  full-dress  private  rehearsal  of  the  'Oedipus 
Tyrannus '  took  place  at  Sanders  Theatre  last  night, 
in  presence  of  a  large  number  of  invited  guests, 
among  whom  were  to  be  seen  almost  all  the  noted 
celebrities,  literary,  artistic,  and  scientific,  known  to 
Boston  and  its  vicinity.  The  rehearsal  went  with  a 
degree  of  smoothness  that  gave  promise  of  a  rare 
degree  of  excellence  in  the  performance  to  take  place 
on  Tuesday  evening.  The  effect  of  the  costumes  was 
extremely  brilliant ;  the  acting  was  unexpectedly  vig- 
orous and  able  ;  and  Mr.  Paine's  music  excited  equal 
admiration  and  pleasure  in  its  listeners.  The  general 
expression  of  opinion  was  of  astonishment  and  grati- 
fication at  the  fine  results  attained  in  every  essential. 
The  whole  affair,  from  its  inception  to  the  culmi- 
nation, as  seen  last  night,  reflects  the  greatest  credit 
on  the  taste,  the  judgment,  and  the  ability  of  all 
concerned." 


<EJje  Preparation  of  tije  Pag.  59 

From  the  Boston  "  Evening  Transcript " :  — 

"  Although  respect  for  the  wish  expressed  by  those 
engaged  in  the  production  of  the  Greek  Play  at  Har- 
vard forbids  us  to  describe  or  comment  upon  the 
1  dress  rehearsal '  of  Saturday  evening,  we  may  at 
least  be  permitted  to  communicate  the  pleasing  re- 
sult of  that  performance,  —  the  removal  of  the  last 
doubt  of  a  complete  and  memorable  success.  .  .  . 
Harvard  again  proves  herself  nobly  representative 
of  her  time  and  country  in  making  this  most  remark- 
able effort  for  art  and  for  the  drama.  The  labors 
of  those  who  participated  in  the  performance  must 
have  been  as  severe  as  they  have  been  protracted,, 
and  the  danger  of  possible  failure  must  have  made  it 
a  grave  matter  for  all  concerned  in  the  University 
not  immediately  enlisted  in  the  work.  But  the 
reward  is  now  certain  to  equal  the  pains  and  the 
risk,  and  the  whole  will  be  a  delightful  and  honor- 
able thing  to  remember  and  recount  among  the 
glories  of  Harvard  University." 

From  the  "  New  York  Sun  " :  — 

"The  end  seems  to  have  been  attained  as  nearly 
as  was  possible.  ...  It  is  difficult  to  see  how  the 


60  GHje  preparation  of  tfje  $lag. 

play  could  have  been  better  rendered.  It  is  a  great 
honor  to  Harvard  to  have  been  the  pioneer  college 
in  this  country  to  achieve  so  arduous  a  work." 

From  the  "  Louisville  (Kentucky)  Post":  — 

"  The  first  full-dress  rehearsal  by  the  students  of 
Harvard  College  of  the  '  Oedipus  Tyrannus,'  in 
Sanders  Theatre,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  on  Saturday 
evening  last,  proved  beyond  reasonable  doubt  that 
the  performance  will  be  a  success.  The  audience 
completely  filled  the  theatre,  and  was  very  enthusi- 
astic as  well  as  critical,  composed,  as  it  was,  of  those 
who,  from  actual  connection  with  the  production,  or 
from  sympathy  with  the  effort,  are  most  interested 
and  capable  of  passing  judgment." 

After  the  dress  rehearsal  there  was  a  pause 
before  the  decisive  effort.  Each  man  spent 
it  in  adding  strength  at  the  points  where  he 
felt  himself  to  be  weak.  The  difficulties  that 
had  been  seen  had  been  fairly  faced,  and 
everybody  had  aimed  high.  Le  genie  n'est 
que  H  attention  suivie :  the  re^yiKov  had   been 


GTfje  Preparation  of  tfje  Pag. 


61 


faithfully  followed;  was  there  no  reason  to 
hope  that  it  would  be  transfigured  into  d&ov 
when  the  crowning  moment  came  I 


■£&F±m 


OP  THK 


UNIVERSITY; 


I  HE  audience  gathered  in  the  San- 
ders Theatre  on  Tuesday  even- 
ing, May  15,  1881,  was  in  many 
ways  a  remarkable  one.  As  was  said,  it  has 
probably  never  been  equalled  in  America 
for  literary  distinction.  The  familiar  faces 
of  most  of  those  who  represent  American 
letters  to-day  were  to  be  seen  in  all  direc- 
tions. Longfellow,  Emerson,  Holmes,  Cur- 
tis, Howells,  were  there ;  of  somewhat  less 
distinguished  men  it  would  be  easier  to 
name  those  who  were  absent.  College 
presidents  and  professors  from  all  parts  of 
the  country,  several  eminent  magistrates, 
the  editors  of  many  of  the  leading  jour- 
nals,  all   the   instructors   at    Harvard,  —  no 


GTfje  Performance.  63 

branch  of  learning  was  without  its  distin- 
guished representatives.  Owing  to  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies  in  large  numbers  the  appear- 
ance of  the  audience  was  as  brilliant  as  its 
reputation. 

In  respect  to  its  state  of  mind,  also,  the 
audience  was  remarkable.  Many  persons 
had  come  with  doubt  as  to  the  feasibility, 
or  even  the  propriety,  of  the  undertaking ; 
others  thought  it  an  excellent  thing  for 
young  men  to  do,  but  were  prepared  to  be 
thoroughly  wearied ;  others  again  had  come 
ready  to  mourn  the  absence  of  the  classic 
glories,  and  to  dislike  what  they  felt  sure 
must  be  a  pretentious  amateur  performance. 
Those  who  were  best  pleased  that  the  voice 
of  the  old  Athenian  days  was  to  be  heard 
again,  were  naturally  solicitous  lest  some 
youthful  extravagance  or  unforeseen  hitch 
should  mar  the  effect  of  the  whole.  From 
the  person  who  sat  in  blankest  ignorance 
of  what  was   coming,  to  the  one   who    had 


64  3Tfje  Performance, 

formed  all  his  opinions  beforehand,  every 
state  of  mind  was  represented.  One  who 
carefully  observed  the  thousand  faces  could 
see  that  a  doubtful  and  curious  expectancy 
was  hidden  beneath  the  universal  smile. 

The  seats  on  the  floor  of  the  theatre  had 
been  removed  to  make  place  for  the  OvjAckr) 
and  the  Chorus.  Outside  the  low  barrier 
which  surrounded  this  open  space  sat  an 
orchestra  of  forty  performers  and  a  supple- 
mentary chorus  of  sixty  voices.  A  volume 
containing  the  text  of  Professor  White's 
edition  of  the  Oedipus  and  Professor  Lewis 
Campbell's  translation,  on  opposite  pages, 
had  been  published  by  the  committee.  The 
programme  (of  which  a  reduced  fac-simile 
is  given  in  Appendix  2)  was  an  interesting 
production,  bearing  the  Harvard  seal,  and 
printed  in  Greek  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  lines  of  request  to  the  audience  pre- 
ceded by  the  amusing  statement,  fjuere^pdcrOr) 
ivia  yapiv   rcov  firj  kWrjvitpvTUiv.     The  doors 


&fje  Performance.  65 

were   closed   five   minutes   before   the   com- 
mencement of  the  performance. 

The  scene  behind  the  long  and  narrow 
stage  is  the  palace  of  Oedipus,  king  of 
Thebes,  —  a  stately  building  with  its  frieze 
and  columns.  There  is  a  large  central  door 
with  two  broad  steps,  and  two  smaller  side 
doors  ;  all  three  are  closed.  In  the  centre  of 
the  stage  in  front  is  a  large  altar;  beside 
each  of  the  smaller  doors  of  the  palace  is 
another  altar.  A  flight  of  steps  leads  from 
the  stage  at  each  side.  The  sound  of  the 
closing  doors  has  warned  the  audience  that 
the  long-expected  moment  is  at  hand,  and 
an  immediate  silence  ensues.  Under  these 
circumstances  the  first  notes  of  the  orches- 
tra come  with  great  effect  and  the  entire 
prelude  is  unusually  impressive.  As  it 
closes,  the  spectators  are  sympathetic  and 
expectant. 

Slowly  the  crimson  curtains  on  the  right- 
hand  side  below  the  stage  are  drawn  apart, 


66  Cfje  Performance. 

and  the  Priest  of  Zeus  enters,  leaning  on  a 
staff,  a  venerable  and  striking  figure.  In 
Plate  VI.  the  beauty  of  his  drapery  is  seen. 
Behind  him  come  two  little  children.  They 
are  dressed  in  soft  white  tunics  and  cloaks, 
their  hair  is  bound  with  white  fillets,  and 
they  carry  in  their  hands  olive  branches 
twined  with  wool,  — 

e\aias  O^v^iyfuvrjTou  Kkabov, 
\rjvet  fxeyiaTa  (T<o(f)p6va)s  e<rr€/i/iei/oi>. 

This  shows  that  they  come  as  suppliants. 
Behind  the  children  come  boys,  then  youths, 
and  then  old  men.  All  are  dressed  in  white 
and  carry  suppliant  boughs ;  in  the  costumes 
of  the  men,  the  delicate  fabric  of  the  un- 
dergarment, the  xn-<y*>,  contrasts  beautifully 
with  the  heavy  folds  of  the  I/jloltlov.  With 
grave  attentive  faces  the  procession  crosses 
the  front  of  the  stage,  and  mounts  the  steps; 
the  suppliants  lay  down  their  branches  and 
seat  themselves  on  the  steps  of  the  altars. 
The  priest  alone  remains  standing,  facing  the 
palace  door. 


&{je  Performance.  67 

The  first  impression  upon  the  spectators 
was  fortunate.  The  innocent  looks  of  the 
children,  the  handsome  figures  of  the  men, 
the  simplicity  and  solemnity  of  their  move- 
ments, set  off  as  they  were  by  the  fine 
drapery  of  their  garments  and  the  striking 
groups  around  the  altars,  had  an  instant  and 
deep  effect.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  fears  of 
crudeness  or  failure  began  rapidly  to  vanish. 
The  spectacle  presented  at  this  moment  was 
one  of  the  most  impressive  of  the  play ;  it 
is  well  shown  in  Plate  VIII.,  although  the 
groups  are  only  partially  visible. 

After  a  short  pause  the  great  doors  of  the 
palace  are  thrown  back,  and  the  attendants 
of  Oedipus  enter  and  take  up  their  positions 
on  each  side.  They  wear  thin  lavender 
tunics  reaching  nearly  to  the  knee.  Their 
looks  are  directed  to  the  interior  of  the  pal- 
ace, whence,  in  a  moment,  Oedipus  enters. 
His  royal  robes  gleam  now  with  the  purple 
of  silk  and  now  with  the  red  of  gold ;  gold 


68  Wqz  Performance 

embroidery  glitters  on  his  crimson  tunic  and 
on  his  white  sandals  ;  his  crown  gives  him 
dignity  and  height. 

For  an  instant  he  surveys  the  suppliants, 
and  then  addresses  them.  Mr.  Riddled  voice 
is  soft  and  musical,  and  the  words  come  full 
and  solemn:  — 

Q  reKva,  Kddfjiov  tov  irdXat  vea  rpo(fifj. 

The  spectators  have  heard  the  first  Greek 
words.  Descending  the  steps  as  he  speaks, 
Oedipus  asks  the  reason  of  the  presence  of 
this  kneeling  suppliant  throng.  So  great  is 
his  interest,  he  says,  in  the  city  and  its  sons, 
that  he  was  unwilling  to  learn  by  messengers, 
but  has  come  himself,  "great  Oedipus,  of  uni- 
versal fame  " :  let  this  aged  priest  answer  for 
them  all.  The  old  man  tells  the  sad  story 
of  the  plague.  The  city  is  again  in  desper- 
ate plight;  Oedipus  baffled  the  bloodthirsty 
Sphinx,  can  he  not  prove  himself  a  double 
saviour  ? 


hsity: 

&fje  performance. 

"  Thou,  then,  come, 
Noblest  of  mortals,  give  our  city  rest 
From  trouble."  * 

This  is  not  new  to  Oedipus;  indeed,  as 
ruler,  he  has  borne  a  triple  grief.  Many 
plans  for  relief  have  been  already  tried ;  lat- 
est and  best,  he  has  sent  Creon,  the  brother 
of  his  queen,  to  the  oracle  at  Delphi  to  learn 
in  what  way  the  city  may  be  saved ;  and  it 
is  already  more  than  time  for  him  to  return. 
While  Oedipus  is  speaking,  the  children  on 
the  left  of  the  stage  have  descried  some  one 
approaching,  and  one  of  them  has  pointed 
him  out  to  the  priest.  It  is  Creon,  who  enters 
with  rapid  strides,  wearing  a  wreath  of  bay 
leaves  sparkling  with  berries,  the  symbol  of  a 
favorable  answer.  He  is  dressed  in  the  short 
salmon-colored  tunic  and  crimson  cloak,  with 
hat  and  staff.  A  hasty  greeting  follows  ;  and 
Oedipus,  the  priest,  and  the  suppliants  wait 
for  the  answer  of  the  oracle.     Creon  judges 

*  The  quotations,  with  few  exceptions,  are  from  Professor 
Lewis  Campbell's  translation  of  the  Oedipus. 


70  8Hje  Performance. 

it  best   not   to   speak   out  before   so   many- 
people. 

"  My  message  is,  that  even  our  woes, 
Borne  right  unto  their  issue,  shall  be  well." 

This  is  the  moment  represented  in  Plate 
VIII. 

The  eagerness  of  Oedipus  brooks  no  such 
ambiguity,  so  Creon  speaks  clearly.  The 
oracle  lias  declared  that  the  plague  will  cease 
when  those  who  murdered  Laius,  and  are 
still  dwelling  in  the  land,  shall  have  been 
punished  by  banishment  or  death.  Oedipus 
then  questions  Creon  concerning  the  particu- 
lars of  the  death  of  Laius,  and  is  informed 
that  he  started  on  his  journey  to  Delphi  and 
never  returned;  that  an  attendant  arrived 
and  reported  that  the  rest  of  the  party  had 
been  slain  by  a  band  of  robbers.  But  why, 
asks  the  king,  did  you  not  pursue  and  pun- 
ish the  wretches  ?  Creon  pauses  and  glances 
round  the  theatre,  and  in  the  hush  whicli  fol- 
lows he  approaches  Oedipus  and  utters  the 


T'll 

r<"  m 

«  '      '  -~.r-.r- 

r 

■ 

HP 

n 

n 

U 

r  ] 

Li 

VL~i| 

^)/>    OP   THK         -<r- v 

JNIVERSITYJ 


GTfje  performance.  71 

word  which  recalls  at  once  the  suffering  of 
the  city  and  the  services  of  him  addressed: 
77  7roi/a\o>Sos  t<f)Ly€,  —  "  the  riddle-singing 
Sphinx,"  —  and  the  harsh  word  echoes 
through  the  silent  theatre.  "  Good  !  "  says 
Oedipus,  his  pride  gratified  and  his  ambi- 
tion roused ;  "  then  I  will  find  them  out." 
With  the  assurance  of  speedy  aid  he  leads 
Creon  into  the  palace,  and  the  attendants 
follow  and  close  the  doors.  Slowly  the 
white-robed  suppliants  rise ;  the  petition 
bein^-  granted,  each  one  takes  his  bough, 
and  led  by  the  priest  they  descend  the  steps 
and  disappear. 

As  the  last  figure  passes  out  of  sight  the 
notes  of  the  orchestra  are  heard  once  more, 
this  time  with  a  measured  beat  which  in- 
stantly attracts  attention,  and  the  Chorus  of 
old  men  of  Thebes  issues  from  the  same 
entrance.  They  are  men  of  various  ages, 
dressed  in  tunics  reaching  to  the  instep  and 
full  t/xctTta,  of  harmonious  soft  warm  colors. 


72  &j)e  Performance. 

The  excellence  of  the  costumes  was  marked ; 
each  man  seemed  to  have  worn  his  dress  for 
years,  and  to  exhibit  his  individuality  in  the 
folds  of  it.  They  enter  three  deep,  march- 
ing to  the  solemn  beat  of  the  music  ;  and 
as  the  first  rank  comes  in  sight  of  the  audi- 
ence the  strains  of  the  choral  ode  burst  from 
their  lips. 


m^mm^^m 


Shoulder  to  shoulder  and  foot  to  foot  the 
old  men  make  their  way  to  the  altar  on  the 
floor  of  the  theatre  and  take  up  their  posi- 
tions around  it.*  This  entrance  of  the  Cho- 
rus was  surpassed  in  dramatic  effect  by  few 
features  of  the  play :  the  rhythmical  move- 

*  In  Plate  IX.  the  general  appearance  of  the  Chorus  is  well 
shown,  although  the  effect  of  the  picturesque  grouping  is  lost, 
it  being  necessary  to  crowd  the  men  together  in  order  to  bring 
so  many  faces  within  the  focus  of  one  lens.  A  certain  peculiar 
expression  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  a  very  brilliant 
electric  light  was  suspended  in  front  of  them.  The  Cory- 
phaeus is  the  tallest  figure  of  the  group. 


Plate  IX, 


^^^^ 


OP  TUB 


^ 


UNIVEESI 


&fje  performance,  73 

ments,  the  coloring  and  drapery,  the  dignity 
of  the  faces,  the  impressive  music  sung  in 
unison  by  the  fifteen  trained  voices, — all 
these  combined  to  produce  a  startling  effect 
on  the  audience. 

The  chorus  represents  the  citizens  sum- 
moned by  Oedipus  to  hear  of  his  determina- 
tion to  investigate  the  murder  of  Laius.  They  \  j/ 
are  singing  in  appeal  to  Apollo  and  Athena, 
praying  that  this  day  may  see  the  end  of  the 
woes  of  Thebes. 

"  Kind  voice  of  Heaven,  soft-breathing  from  the  height 
Of  Pytho  *  rich  in  gold  to  Thebe  bright, 

What  wilt  thou  bring  to-day  ? 

Ah,  Delian  Paean,  say  ! 
My  heart  hangs  on  thy  word  with  trembling  awe  : 
What  new-given  law, 

Or  what  returning  in  Rime's  circling  round 
Wilt  thou  unfold  1     Tell  us,  immortal  sound, 
Daughter  of  golden  Hope,  we  pray,  we  pray  !  " 

"  And  swiftly  speed  afar, 
Wind-borne  on  backward  car, 
This  shieldless  war-god  t  with  loud  onset  sweeping, 

*  Delphi. 

t  The  plague,  —  "  the  unarmed  Mars." 


74  2Tfje  Performance, 

To  oarless  Thracian  tide, 
Or  ocean  chambers  wide, 
Where  Amphitrite  lone  her  couch  is  keeping. 
Day  ruins  what  night  spares  ;  O  thou  whose  hand 
Wields  lightning,  blast  him  with  thy  thundering  brand." 

The  strophes  in  this  ode  are  sung  by  the 
dramatic  chorus  only,  the  antistrophes  by 
the  dramatic  chorus  and  the  supplementary 
chorus  together. 

As  the  music  ceases,  Oedipus  enters.  He 
reiterates  his  determination  to  secure  and 
punish  the  murderer  of  his  predecessor.  If 
any  one  knows  aught,  let  him  speak  out ; 
Oedipus  calls  down  curses  on  the  heads  of 
those  who,  knowing  of  the  matter,  are  silent, 
and  bitterly  curses  the  murderer  himself. 

u  Let  his  crushed  life 
Wither  forlorn  in  hopeless  misery. 
And  I  pray  Heaven,  should  he  or  they  be  housed 
With  mine  own  knowledge  in  my  home,  that  I 
May  suffer  what  I  imprecate  on  them." 

The  days  of  dark  oracles  and  strange  ad- 
ventures are  indeed  forgotten,  and  Oedipus' 


&{je  performance.  75 

thinks  of  himself  only  as  the  worshipped  ruler 
of  a  mighty  city.  All  these  woes,  as  a  Greek 
audience  knew  well,  Oedipus  was  calling 
down  upon  himself.  They  would  perceive 
with  awe  the  first  suggestions  of  the  fulfil- 
ment of  fate. 

By  the  advice  of  Creon,  Oedipus  has  sum- 
moned a  famous  seer,  the  blind  Teiresias,  a 
man  who  holds  direct  communion  with  the 
Gods.  At  this  moment  Teiresias  enters,  a 
towering,  venerable  figure,  with  long  white 
hair  and  beard.  He  is  guided  to  the  stage 
by  a  boy,  whose  blue  cloak  contrasts  with 
the  snowy  draperies  of  the  old  man.  Plate 
IV.  is  an  excellent  portrait. 

To  him 

'f  whose  universal  thought  controls 
All  knowledge  and  all  mystery,  in  heaven 
And  on  the  earth  beneath," 

Oedipus  reverently  appeals.  In  Teiresias  lies 
the  only  hope  of  the  city :  it  is  a  privilege 
to  use  the  power  one  has  for  good. 


76  &{je  Performance. 

"  Thou,  then, 
Withhold  not  any  word  of  augury 
Or  other  divination  that  thou  knovvest, 
But  rescue  Thebe,  and  thyself,  and  me, 
And  purge  this  dire  pollution  of  the  dead." 

Plate  X.  represents  the  scene  at  this  mo- 
ment. 

The  first  words  of  Teiresias,  in  Mr.  Guild's 
deep  voice,  take  the  spectators  by  surprise. 
<f>evj  cj)evj  —  "  Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  n 

"  Terrible  is  knowledge  to  the  man 
Whom  knowledge  profits  not.  This  well  I  knew, 
But  had  forgotten.     Else  had  I  ne'er  come  hither." 

He  knows  all  the  truth  and  foresees  the 
horror  which  would  follow  his  words.  He 
begs  to  be  sent  home  again,  and  counsels 
Oedipus  to  seek  no  farther.  The  king 
is  bitterly  disappointed,  and  his  ever-ready 
anger  rises.  He  has  implored,  he  now 
threatens  ;  Teiresias  declares  that  nothing 
shall  induce  him  to  speak.  This  is  one  of 
the  grand  scenes  of  the  play :  two  powerful 


Plate  X, 


ftfje  Performance.  77 

natures  are  in  conflict;  the  spectators  are 
greatly  moved  by  the  contrast  between  the 
passion  of  the  king  and  the  determination 
of  the  seer.  Which  will  conquer  ?  It  is  the 
fate  of  Oedipus  to  bring  down  woes  upon  his 
head,  and  now  he  declares  that  he  sees  in 
Teiresias  the  abettor  of  the  murder. 

"  If  thou  hadst  eyes, 
Sole  murderer  had  I  declared  thee  too." 

This  is  more  than  the  old  man  can  bear ; 
that  he,  the  favored  of  the  Gods,  a  prince 
and  priest,  should  be  thus  reviled  by  the 
sinner  whom  he  is  trying  to  shield,  makes 
further  silence  impossible. 

"  Is  't  possible  ?     I  charge  thee  to  abide 
By  that  thou  hast  proclaimed ;  and  from  this  hour 
Speak  not  to  any  Theban  or  to  me. 
Thou  art  the  foul  polluter  of  this  land." 

Roused  by  the  intensity  of  his  own  utter- 
ance, the  old  man  goes  on  to  declare  that 
the  other   things   prophesied   by  the  oracle 


78  &fje  Performance, 

have  come  true,  and  that  all  men  will  soon 
reproach  the  sinner.  Fearful  words  are 
these  :  the  attendants  start  forward,  and  the 
frightened  Chorus  gather  near  the  stage.  It 
would  seem  that  so  terrible  and  direct  an 
accusation  would  instantly  remind  the  king 
of  the  prophecy  at  Delphi  and  the  event 
which  followed.  But  Oedipus  is  blinded  by 
his  anger,  and  pays  no  heed  to  what  seem 
lying  words.  So  the  blind  man  sees,  and 
the  man  whose  outer  sight  is  clear  is  lost  in 
the  blindness  of  his  soul.  Oedipus  recalls  at 
this  moment  the  fact  that  it  was  by  Creon's 
counsel  that  Teiresias  was  summoned  :  what 
is  clearer  than  that  they  are  together  plotting 
against  the  throne  f  So  he  denounces  them 
both,  and  threatens  punishment ;  if  Teiresias 
were  not  an  old  man  he  should  receive  it 
on  the  spot.  Teiresias  calls  the  boy  to  lead 
him  away,  but  before  going  he  prophesies 
the  farther  fate  of  Oedipus  in  a  terrible 
speech :  — 


Sftt  Pntomann.  ^gjjj'ofttf 

"  I  tell  thee  this  :  the  man  whom  thou  so  long 
Seekest  with  threats  and  mandates  for  the  murder 
Of  Lai  us,  that  very  man  is  here, 
By  name  an  alien,  but  in  season  due 
He  shall  be  shown  true  Theban,  and  small  joy 
Shall  have  therein ;  for  blind,  instead  of  seeing, 
And  poor,  who  once  was  rich,  he  shall  go  forth 
Staff-guided,  groping,  o'er  a  foreign  land. 
He  shall  be  shown  to  be  with  his  own  children 
Brother  and  sire  in  one,  of  her  who  bore  him 
Husband  at  once  and  offspring,  of  his  father 
Bedmate  and  murderer.     Go  ;  take  now  these  words 
•Within  and  weigh  them  ;  if  thou  find  me  false, 
Say  then  that  divination  taught  me  nothing."  * 

The  two  men  part  in  deadly  anger,  Oedipus 
going  within  the  palace  and  the  boy  leading 
Teiresias  down  the  steps.  The  scene  was 
admirably  acted,  and  the  significance  of  it  is 
vividly  present  to  the  audience  ;  for  the  first 
time  the  performance  is  interrupted  by  pro- 
longed applause. 

Once  more  the  music  sounds,  and  the  Cho- 
rus gives  voice  to  its  feelings  concerning  the 
strange  scene  which  has  just  been  enacted. 

*  Symonds's  translation. 


\ 


80  &fje  performance. 

At  first  the  music  is  weird,  and  expresses 
horror  and  anxious  doubt. 

"  Whom  hath  the  mystic  stone 

Declared  to  have  done 
Horrors  unnamable  with  blood-stained  hand  ? 

With  speed  of  storm-swift  car 

'T  is  time  he  fled  afar 
With  mighty  footsteps  hurrying  from  the  land. 
For,  armed  with  lightning  brand, 
There  leaps  upon  his  track  the  son  of  Jove, 
And  close  behind  the  unerring  Destinies  move." 

Toward  the  close  of  the  chorus  the  music 
becomes  expressive  of  hope,  and  the  last 
bars  symbolize  the  confidence  in  Oedipus 
which  the  words  express. 

"  Zeus  and  his  son 
Know  surely  all  that  o'er  the  world  is  done  : 

But  that  the  seer 

Hath  wisdom  clear, 
Or  more  endowment  than  the  crowd, 
Was  never  yet  with  evidence  allowed. 

A  man  with  wit 
May  pass  the  bound  another  man  hath  won  j 
But  never,  till  I  see  fulfilment  fit, 

Will  I  confirm  the  blame 

They  cast  upon  his  name. 


&fje  Performance.  81 

Wise  he  was  found  beneath  the  searching  sun, 
And  kind  to  Thebe,  when  the  Sphinx  came  forth 
And  sang.    My  heart  shall  never  doubt  his  worth." 

As  the  strains  of  music  die  away  Creon  is 
seen  hastily  ascending  the  steps  on  the  right. 
He  is  no  longer  dressed  as  a  traveller,  but  in 
garments  suited  to  his  high  rank.  His  tunic 
is  of  delicate  dark  crimson  material,  with  a 
gold  border ;  his  IfxaTLov  is  of  bright  crimson 
cashmere,  with  a  broader  gold  border;  his 
sandals  are  of  crimson  and  gold.  He  strides 
to  the  centre  of  the  stage  and  bursts  out  in 
indignant  denial  of  the  charges  that  Oedipus 
has  made  against  him. 

While  the  Chorus,  through  its  leader,  is 
endeavoring  to  moderate  the  indignation  of 
Creon,  Oedipus  enters  from  the  palace.  At 
such  a  meeting  a  quarrel  is  inevitable.  The 
king  does  not  hesitate  to  begin  it :  — 

"  Insolent,  art  thou  here  1    Hadst  thou  the  face 
To  bring  thy  boldness  near  my  palace-roof, 
Convicted  of  contriving  'gainst  my  life 
And  laying  robber  hands  upon  my  state  1 " 


\ 


82  GEfje  Performance. 

For  some  time  Creon  maintains  the  calm 
of  innocence,  and  asks  but  to  be  allowed  to 
speak  in  his  own  defence  :  — 

"  First  on  this  very  point,  hear  me  declare  "  — 
"  I  will  not  hear  that  thou  art  not  a  villain," 

is  the  contemptuous  interruption  of  the  king, 
who  nevertheless  listens,  though  with  mani- 
fest impatience,  to  Creon's  long  and  logical 
defence.  " How  absurd,"  argues  Creon,  "to 
suspect  me  of  trying  to  supplant  you  !  I  am 
much  better  off  as  I  am;  I  have  the  privi- 
leges and  pleasures  of  royalty  without  its 
cares.  Go  to  Delphi  and  satisfy  yourself 
that  I  brought  back  the  true  answer.  Thus 
to  cast  off  a  faithful  friend  is  worse  than 
folly." 

The    Chorus,    too,   advises    the   king  that 

"  swift  is  not  sure  in  thought."     But  it  is  not 

in  the  nature  of  Oedipus  to  listen  to  counsels 

\  of  moderation ;  resuming  his  extreme  tone  he 

declares  that  Creon  shall  die.     Creon  is  star- 


ftfje  performance.  83 

tied  out  of  his  forced  calmness,  and  a  sharp 
altercation  ensues.  Just  as  this  reaches  its 
height  the  doors  of  the  palace  are  seen  to 
open,  and  the  Chorus  bids  both  angry  speak- 
ers cease,  as  Jocasta  is  approaching.  The 
attendants  of  Jocasta  enter  and  place  them- 
selves on  each  side  of  the  door,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  the  queen  herself  stands  upon  the 
threshold.  Oedipus  turns  to  her  with  wel- 
come, and  Creon  with  a  gesture  of  appeal.* 

*  Plate  XI.  shows  the  stage  at  this  moment.  In  the  article 
to  which  reference  has  previously  been  made,  Mr.  Millet  bases 
the  explanation  of  his  scheme  of  costume  upon  this  scene.  He 
says : — 

"  It  was  part  of  the  original  scheme  that  in  each  group  the 
most  prominent  character  should,  as  far  as  possible,  be  the 
focus,  not  only  of  interest  in  the  text,  but  from  the  point  of 
view  of  costume.  Let  us  see  how  the  first  complex  group  ful- 
filled this  condition.  On  the  stage  left  stood  Oedipus,  in  rich 
but  deep-toned  red ;  on  the  right,  Creon,  equally  in  red,  but  of 
a  «olor  entirely  different  in  scale  ;  the  attendants  of  the  king, 
in  lavender  tunics  bordered  with  gold-embroidered  white, 
flanked  the  doorway ;  and  the  two  attendants  of  Jocasta,  in 
delicate  blue  and  salmon,  brought  the  eye  by  a  pleasing  gradua- 
tion in  intensity  of  color  and  strength  of  tone  up  to  the  figure 
of  the  queen,  clothed  in  lustrous  and  ample  drapery." 


84  GTije  Performance. 

Her  dress  consists  of  a  richly  trimmed  sil- 
very undergarment,  and  an  t/xanoi/  of  crimped 
pale  yellow  silk.  She  wears  a  crown,  brace- 
lets, and  necklace,  and  white  sandals  embroid- 
ered with  gold. 

No  man  can  hope  to  assume  all  the  grace 
of  a  female  figure,  nor  can  any  costume  make 
a  man  look  entirely  like  a  woman.  It  must 
be  said,  however,  that  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Opdycke  was  charmingly  feminine,  and  that 
the  grace  of  his  movements  was  remarkable. 
His  assumption  of  a  very  difficult  role  was 
such  as  fully  to  reward  a  long  and  faithful 
study,  and  to  justify  the  hearty  praise  with 
which  his  acting  was  received. 

The  first  words  of  Jocasta  are  a  disap- 
pointment to  both  the  men  who  welcome 
her  appearance.  She  has  heard  their  angry 
voices,  and  has  come  to  silence  them :  — 

"  Unhappy  that  ye  are,  why  have  ye  reared 
Your  wordy  rancor  'mid  the  city's  harms  1 
Have  you  no  shame,  to  stir  up  private  broils 


Plate  XI 


Efje  Performance,  85 

In  such  a  time  as  this  ?    Get  thee  within  ! 
And  thou,  too,  Creon  !   nor  enlarge  your  griefs 
To  make  a  mountain  out  of  nothingness." 

This  speech  of  Jocasta  is  followed  by  a 
kommosy  that  is,  a  passage  in  which  the  song 
of  the  Chorus  alternates  with  the  spoken 
words  of  the  principal  characters.  The  Cho- 
rus appeals  to  Oedipus  to  spare  Creon,  who 
has  always  shown  himself  wise,  and  has  now 
hallowed  by  an  oath  his  denial  of  the  charges. 
At  the  prayer  of  his  people  Oedipus  yields  : 
Creon  may  go,  but  hatred  shall  follow  him. 

"  Let  me  alone,  then,  and  begone  !  " 

"I  go, 
Unchanged  to  these,  though  I  have  found  thee  blind." 

And  with  a  gesture  of  reproach  Creon  turns 
and  leaves  the  stage. 

Jocasta  now  demands  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel,  and  is  informed  by  the  king  that 
Creon  and  a  knavish  soothsayer  have  accused 
him  of  the  murder  of  Laius.  Such  fears, 
Jocasta  says,  are  soon  quieted;  "no  mortal    y 


86  •  ftfje  Performance. 

thing*  is  touched  by  prophecy."  Did  not  the 
oracle  declare  that  Laius  should  perish  by 
the  hands  of  his  own  son  ?  Yet  he  was  slain 
by  robbers  at  a  place  where  three  ways 
meet,  and  the  child  perished  in  the  wilds  of 
Cithaeron. 

"  So  Loxias  neither  brought  upon  the  boy 
His  father's  murder,  nor  on  Laius 
The  thing  he  greatly  feared,  death  by  his  son. 
Such  issues  come  of  prophesying  words, 
Therefore  regard  them  not." 

One  of  the  expressions  of  Jocasta  has  roused 
strange  memories  in  the  king.  "  Where  three 
ways  met,"  that  was  where  he  slew  the  trav- 
eller. "Where  was  this  place ? "  he  asks.  " It 
was  in  Phocis,  and  the  roads  lead  to  Daulia 
and  to  Delphi."  "  How  long  ago  ?  "  "  Just 
before  you  appeared,  to  save  the  state." 
"Yes;  tell  me  how  Laius  looked."  "  He  was 
tall,  with  gray  hair;  in  figure  much  like  you." 
"  Yes,  yes.  Tell  me  one  thing  more.  Was 
he  alone,  or  attended  f  "     "  There  were  five 


&fje  Performance.  87 

in  all,  one  a  herald,  and  Laius  rode  in  the 
chariot." 

"  Woe  !  woe  !    'T  is  clear  as  daylight." 

From  the  excited  questions  of  Oedipus  and 
the  careful  replies  of  Jocasta,  anxious  only  to 
dispel  all  fears,  one  thing  is  proved :  Oedipus 
is  the  murderer  of  Laius.  A  single  slender 
hope  remains ;  the  attendant  who  escaped 
reported  that  Laius  had  been  slain  by  "rob- 
bers." Should  he  still  assert  this,  Oedipus  is 
saved  from  the  guilt  of  being  the  polluter  of 
the  state. 

"  One  man  and  many  cannot  be  the  same." 

Jocasta  knows  nothing  of  the  youth  of 
Oedipus,  of  his  journey  to  Delphi,  and  of  his 
adventure  in  the  cross-roads ;  she  is  therefore 
at  a  loss  to  understand  his  fears.  So  Oedipus 
tells  the  whole  story  as  it  has  already  been 
described.  It  is  a  long,  passionate  speech, 
and  Mr.  Riddle's  rendering  is  clear  and  pow- 
erful.    The  climax  is  reached  when  Oedipus, 


88  £je  performance. 

in  a  voice  at  once  triumphant  and  remorseful, 
shouts,  "  I  slew  them  every  one."  Instantly 
his  demeanor  changes,  all  the  triumph  drops 
from  his  tone,  and  he  cries  piteously,  — 

"  Now  if  there  be 
Aught  of  connection  or  relationship 
Between  yon  stranger  and  King  Laius, 
What  wretch  on  earth  was  e'er  so  lost  as  I  ? " 

Jocasta  again  comforts  him  by  showing 
that  should  the  attendant  now  assert  that  the 
party  was  attacked  by  one  man,  still  the 
oracle  would  be  proved  false,  as  it  had  de- 
clared that  her  son  should  kill  Laius,  and 
the  babe  had  perished  long  before.  Oedipus 
catches  at  the  crumb  of  comfort,  and  they  go 
within. 

The  choral  ode  which  follows  is  one  of 
great  beauty.  It  begins  with  a  prayer  for 
purity  of  life,  and  reverence  of  thought  and 
speech. 


£fje  Performance.  89 

"  Deep  in  my  life,  by  Fate  impressed, 
Let  holiness  of  word  and  action  rest, 
And  sinless  thought,  by  those  Eternal  Laws 
Controll'd,  whose  being  Heaven  alone  did  cause." 

The  second  strophe  is  a  protest  against 
impiety,  suggested  by  the  impious  words  of 
Jocasta. 

"  Who  walks  disdainfully  with  hand  or  tongue, 
Not  fearing  acts  of  wrong, 
Nor  reverencing  each  temple's  holy  shrine  ? 
A  horrid  fate  be  thine, 
For  thine  abandoned  greed, 
Who  seekest  gain  beyond  thy  rightful  meed, 
Nor  sparest  things  divine, 
And  in  thy  madness  touchest  things  accurst. 
Who,  when  such  crimes  have  burst, 
Can  look  for  shelter  from  the  wrathful  shower  ?  ' 
If  such  a  spirit  be  in  power, 
And  gilded  with  preferment  still  advance, 
What  means  my  service  in  the  sacred  dance  1 " 

As  the  chorus  closes,  Jocasta  enters  in 
a  new  state  of  mind.  She  has  comforted 
Oedipus  by  ridiculing  all  oracles;  but  she 
is  not  without  faith  in  the  power  of  the 
Gods,  and  she  brings  frankincense  and  gar- 


90  &fje  Performance. 

lands,   and   lays  them   with  a  prayer  upon 
the  altar. 

While  she  is  speaking,  an  old  man  has 
entered  on  the  left  below  the  stage.  He  is 
dressed  as  a  common  traveller,  in  a  tunic  and 
short  cloak,  his  hat  slung  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  a  stout  staff  in  his  hand.  It  is  the 
messenger  from  Corinth.  He  looks  round  as 
if  in  search  of  something,  and  as  soon  as  the 
queen  has  finished  her  prayer  he  inquires  of 
the  Chorus  where  the  home  of  Oedipus,  or, 
better  still,  the  king  himself,  can  be  found. 
He  is  promptly  informed  that  the  mansion 
he  sees  is  the  palace  of  Oedipus,  and  that 
the  lady  before  it  is  the  queen.  With  a  pro- 
found salutation  as  he  ascends  to  the  stage, 
he  declares  himself  to  be  the  bearer  •  of  news 
at  once  good  and  bad.  Old  Polybus,  king  of 
Corinth,  is  dead,  and  the  citizens  are  about 
to  make  Oedipus  king.  This  is  indeed 
news  to  Jocasta.  Oedipus  has  long  avoided 
Corinth  lest  he  should  slay  his  father,  Poly- 


&fje  Performance.  91 

bus ;  now  he  can  return,  as  king,  all  fear 
dispelled. 

"  Voices  of  prophecy  !   where  are  ye  now  ? " 

Oedipus  enters  in  response  to  her  sum- 
mons. His  royal  robes  have  been  exchanged 
for  simpler  ones  of  white  and  gold.  He,  too, 
learns  the  news  with  triumph. 

"  Ah  !  my  Jocasta,  who  again  will  heed 
The  Pythian  hearth  oracular,  and  birds 
Screaming  in  air,  blind  guides  ! " 

One  dark  thought,  however,  cuts  his  exul- 
tation short.  He  need  no  longer  fear  to  be 
his  father's  murderer,  but  there  is  a  second 
horror  in  his  fate ;  his  mother,  Merope,  still 
lives  at  Corinth,  and  while  she  lives  he  dares 
not  return.  The  messenger,  rejoicing  in  the 
good  news  he  brings,  and  hoping  for  propor- 
tionate reward,  makes  bold  to  ask  the  reason 
of  these  fears.  On  learning  it,  a  smile  full 
of  meaning  crosses  his  face.    Is  this  the  only 


92  STfjc  Performance. 

thing  that  the  king  dreads?     Then  let  him 
put  it  aside, 

"  Because  with  Polybus  thou  hadst  no  kin." 

"  Why  1    Was  not  he  the  author  of  my  life  1 " 

"  As  much  as  I  am,  and  no  more  than  I." 

"  How  can  my  father  be  no  more  to  me 
Than  who  is  nothing  ? " 

"  In  begetting  thee 
Nor  I  nor  he  had  any  part  at  all." 

The  old  man  smiles  broadly  at  his  own 
humorous  way  of  telling  this  good  news.  It 
is  not  every  one  who  is  privileged  to  remove 
a  king's  fears.  And  he  proceeds  to  tell  how 
he  gave  Oedipus  when  a  babe  to  King  Poly- 
bus, having  received  him  from  one  of  the 
shepherds  of  Laius,  who  had  found  him  in 
the  wilderness  of  Cithaeron.  He  tells  of  the 
cruel  thong,  and  alludes  to  the  scar  on  the 
king's  ankles. 

But  Jocasta?  At  the  other  end  of  the 
stage  the  queen  is  writhing  in  anguish.  The 
deep-red  cloak  which  she  wears  is   twisted 


8Hje  Performance.  93 

about  her ;  now  she  flings  her  hands  up  and 
seems  about  to  speak,  then  her  hands  are 
pressed  on  her  mouth  to  stop  the  cries 
which  rise,  or  on  her  bosom  to  silence  the 
beating  of  her  heart.  She  rushes  toward 
the  king,  but  stops  half-way;  her  face 
shows  the  tortures  of  her  soul.  The  truth  is 
all  too  clear  to  her.  The  spectator  feels  that 
this  suspense  cannot  last,  and  relief  comes 
when  the  Chorus  suggests  that  perhaps  Jo- 
casta  can  tell  something  about  the  shepherd 
of  Laius.  When  appealed  to  by  Oedipus,  she 
forces  the  suffering  from  her  face  and  turns 
with  a  smile. 

"  What  matter  who  ?    Kegard  not,  nor  desire 
Even  vainly  to  remember  aught  he  saith." 

But  Oedipus  has  gone  beyond  recall.  Her 
last  appealing  words  are  scorned,  and  with 
the  language  and  the  gesture  of  despair  she 
rushes  from  the  stage. 

"  O  horrible  !    0  lost  one  !    This  alone 
I  speak  to  thee,  and  no  word  more  for  ever." 


94  &fje  Performance. 

The  Chorus  expresses  the  feelings  of  the 
startled  spectators:  — 

. "  Oedipus,  wherefore  is  Jocasta  gone, 

Driven  madly  by  wild  grief  ?     I  needs  must  fear 
Lest  from  this  silence  she  make  sorrows  spring." 

"  Let  her !    Yet  I  will  choose  to  know  my  birth." 

In  the  song  which  follows,  the  Chorus 
indulges  in  fanciful  speculations  concerning 
the  parentage  of  Oedipus.  The  tenor  solo 
in  the  antistrophe  was  sung  by  Mr.  George 
L.  Osgood. 

As  the  music  ceases  the  attendants  of  Oedi- 
pus appear  at  the  entrance  on  the  right,  sup- 
porting a  strange  figure  between  them.  It  is 
an  aged  man,  with  grizzled  hair  and  beard, 
clothed  in  coarse  homespun  cloth,  and  with 
a  rough,  untanned  sheepskin  over  his  shoul- 
ders. He  supports  himself  on  a  sapling  staff 
which  he  has  cut  in  the  woods.  He  mounts 
the  steps  with  difficulty,  and  faces  the  king. 
He  is  no  stranger  to  the  errand  on  which  he 


Plate  XII. 


->^>>    OR       i-;     x)^ 

UNIVERSITY, 


&{je  Performance.  95 

has  been  brought,  and  with  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty he  is  made  to  speak.  The  contrast 
between  the  eagerness  of  the  messenger  from 
Corinth  to  tell  all  he  knows,  and  the  silence 
of  the  tender-hearted  old  shepherd  is  very 
striking.  The  shepherd  cannot  bear  the  oth- 
er's telltale  chatter,  and  with  the  words,  "Con- 
fusion seize  thee  and  thine  evil  tongue ! "  he 
swings  his  staff  to  strike  him.  The  scene 
at  this  moment  is  shown  in  Plate  XII.  At 
a  gesture  from  Oedipus  the  attendant  stops 
the  blow.  The  old  man  must  be  made  to 
speak. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  speak  to  please  us,  but  the  lash 
Will  make  thee  speak." 

"  By  all  that 's  merciful, 
Scourge  not  this  aged  frame !  " 

"  Pinion  him  straight !  " 

And  the  muscular  attendants  spring  forward 
and  seize  him.  Then  the  truth  is  wrung  from 
him,  word  by  word.  He  gave  the  child  to 
the   Corinthian ;    it  came   from  the  palace ; 


96  W$i  performance. 

they  said  it  was  the  son  of  Laius ;  Queen 
Jocasta  herself  placed  it  in  his  hands ;  they 
said  that  an  oracle  had  declared  that  it 
should  kill  its  father. 

"  What  then  possessed  thee  to  give  up  the  child 
To  this  old  man  1 " 

"  Pity,  my  sovereign  lord  ! 
Supposing  he  would  take  him  far  away 
Unto  the  land  whence  he  was  come.     But  he 
Preserved  him  to  great  sorrow.     For  if  thou 
Art  whom  he  gives  thee  out,  be  well  assured 
Thou  bear'st  a  heavy  doom." 

The  portrait  —  Plate  V.  —  represents  the 
shepherd  at  this  moment. 

The  truth  is  out ;  the  oracles  are  not  falsi- 
fied ;  his  father's  murderer,  his  mother's  hus- 
band, Oedipus  faces  his  doom.  With  a  fear- 
ful, choking  cry  he  pulls  his  robes  over  his 
head  and  face,  and  bursts  into  the  palace. 

"  Woe  !  woe  !  woe !  woe  !    All  cometh  clear  at  last." 

How  great  the  irony  of  fate  !  As  Jocasta, 
in  her  attempts   at  comfort,  suggested  the 


Plate  XIII 


•q 

1 

1 

''  | 

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I  i !  i. 

-  i 

n 

|  !■      i 
1        ' 

Li 
PI 

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V 


Til" 


•    0p     IB"  i 


£4LIF0£ 


GTfje  Performance.  97 

"  place  where  three  ways  meet,"  so  the  Cor- 
inthian messenger,  in  filling,  as  he  thinks,  the 
measure  of  the  king's  joy,  utters  the  words 
which  damn. 

"  So  from  that  spring  whence  comfort  seemed  to  come, 
Discomfort  swells."  * 

And  how  superbly  Sophocles  has  pictured  it ! 
The  passionate  and  haughty  king,  flinging 
his  imprecations  in  heedless  wrath,  is  over- 
whelmed by  their  recoil. 

"By  most  righteous  doom,  . 
Who  drugged  the  cup  with  curses  to  the  brim, 
Himself  hath  drunk  damnation  to  the  dregs." 

This  scene  —  shown  in  Plate  XIII.  —  was 
the  dramatic  climax  of  the  play.  The  acting 
led  up  to  it  gradually  by  the  excited  con- 
versation and  the  shepherd's  blow.  When 
Oedipus  burst  through  the  doors  of  the  palace, 
his  attendants  quickly  followed  him  ;  the  hor- 
ror-stricken messengers  turned  with  despair- 

*  Macbeth  :  quoted  by  Campbell. 


98  2Tijc  Performance. 

ing  gestures  and  descended  the  steps,  the 
one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left,  and  a 
profound  silence  fell  upon  the  theatre. 

In  the  opening  strains  of  the  last  choral 
ode,  which  now  ring  out,  the  emotions  of 
the  scene  are  wonderfully  expressed.  Each 
one  recognizes  the  solemnity  and  depth  of 
his  own  feelings  in  their  pathetic  tones. 


mimm^m 


The  theme  is  one  which  Solon  made  famous, 
—  until  death  no  man's  life  can  safely  be 
called  happy. 

"  O  tribes  of  living  men, 
How  nothing-worth  I  count  you  while  ye  stand  ! 

For  who  of  all  the  train 
Draws  more  of  happiness  into  his  hand 
Than  to  seem  bright,  and  seeming,  fade  in  gloom  1 " 

As  the  ode  closes,  the  palace  doors  are 
opened  violently  from  within,  and  the  sec- 
ond messenger  rushes  on  the  stage.  He  is 
a  servant  from  the  palace,  clad,  like  the  at- 


Cfje  Performance*  99 

tendants,  in  a  short  light  tunic.  He  brings 
a  tale  of  horror:  Oedipus,  on  entering,  had 
called  for  a  sword,  and  demanded  to  know 
where  Jocasta  was.  No  one  would  tell  him ; 
but  at  last,  seeing  the  doors  of  the  bedcham- 
ber shut,  he  had  broken  through  them  and 
disclosed  the  body  of  the  queen  hanging 
by  the  bed.  Tearing  down  the  body,  he 
had  snatched  from  the  shoulders  the  golden 
clasps  and  had  thrust  them  into  his  eyes, 
saying,  — 

"  Henceforth  they  should  not  see  the  evil 
Suffered  or  done  by  him  in  the  past  time, 
But  evermore  in  darkness  now  should  scan 
The  features  he  ought  never  to  have  seen." 

'  In  a  moment  Oedipus  himself  appears,  lean- 
ing on  his  attendants,  his  pale  face  marred 
by  bloody  stains.  The  dismayed  Chorus 
hide  their  faces  in  their  robes,  and  the  king's 
voice  is  broken  with  sobs  as  he  cries,  alal, 
alal,  Svo-tolvos  iyo).  The  lament  of  Oedipus 
is  given  by  Mr.,  Riddle  with  great  power; 
the  ringing  Greek  syllables  grow  more  and 


100  STfje  performance, 

more  impressive,  and  the  haggard,    blood- 
stained face  grows  more  terrible. 

10)  (TKOTOV 

ve<po$  ep,6v  anoTpojrov,  cninXopfvop  acparov, 
dddfiarov  re  Kal  8v(rovpiOTov  ov. 

"  0  cloud  of  dark,  on  me 
Sent  loweringly ! 
Hideous,  unutterable, 
Invincible  ! 
Too  surely  wafted  on." 

In  the  ensuing  dialogue  between  Oedipus 
and  the  Chorus,  the  king  pictures  all  the  ill 
he  has  done  and  suffered;  father,  mother, 
children,  the  three  ways,  Cithaeron,  Thebes, 
the.  oracles,  —  he  spares  himself  no  bitter 
memory.  The  closing  passage  of  his  long 
lament  is  perhaps  the  most  fearful  thing  in 
any  literature. 

&  ydpoi  ydfioi, 
ecpixraff  fjfias,  Kai  (pvrevaavres  nakiv 
dvelTe  tclvtov  airepp.a,  KancbclgaTC 
narepas,  dbe\(povs,  iraiSas,  axy?  £pL<pv\iovJ 
vvfi(pas,  yvvaiKas,  prjTepas  re,  xa>7rd<ra 
aicr^tor'  iv  dv0p6)iroicnv  epya  yiyverai. 


Plate  XIV. 


jjiveesity; 


&{je  performance.  101 

As  Oedipus  is  begging  to  be  slain  or 
thrust  out  of  the  land,  the  approach  of  Creon, 
who  has  resumed  his  royal  powers,  is  an- 
nounced. The  memory  of  all  his  injustice  to 
Creon  overwhelms  Oedipus,  and  he  cannot 
bear  to  meet  him.  But  he  is  blind  and  un- 
able to  flee,  so  he  hides  his  face  and  waits  in 
silence.  Creon  enters,  crowned,  followed  by 
two  attendants.  (See  Plate  XIV.)  His  first 
words  are  reassuring;  the  new  king  does 
not  come  with  mocking  or  reproach,  but 
directs  that  a  sight  so  offensive  to  earth  and 
heaven  be  hidden  within  the  palace.  Oedi- 
pus asks  the  boon  of  banishment,  but  is 
informed  by  the  cautious  Creon  that  the  God 
must  be  consulted.  Then  the  blind  man 
begs  that  his  wife  be  buried  decently,  and 
reiterates  his  prayer  that  he  may  be  per- 
mitted to  leave  the  city  which  he  has  af- 
flicted. And  one  thing  more  he  asks,  — 
that  he  may  embrace  his  daughters  again. 
By  a   sign   Creon   despatches   his   own   at- 


102  2Tf)e  Performance. 

tendants  to  bring  them,  and  while  Oedipus 
is  still  speaking  their  voices  are  heard. 

Antigone  and  Ismene  now  enter,  led  by 
the  attendants  of  Creon,  and  are  placed  in 
the  arms  of  Oedipus,  who  falls  on  his  knees 
beside  them,  and  addresses  them  with  saddest 
words.  The  children  are  too  young  to  appre- 
ciate the  horror  of  the  scene,  but  they  are 
filled  with  pity  for  their  father's  pain.  There 
is  a  look  of  genuine  sympathy  on  the  two 
bright  faces  which  watch  the  kneeling  figure. 
Creon  has  retired  to  the  right  of  the  stage 
and  has  wrapped  his  robe  round  him,  unable 
to  bear  the  sight  of  the  terrible  farewell.  He 
is  summoned  by  Oedipus  to  give  his  hand 
in  token  of  his  promise  to  care  for  the  help- 
less girls.  The  children  fall  back,  the  blind 
man  waits  with  outstretched  hand,  and  Creon 
slowly  and  sadly  walks  across  the  stage  and 
gives  the  sign.  Then  Oedipus  turns  again  to 
his  little  ones.  The  painful  scene,  however, 
has  lasted   long  enough,  and   Creon  orders 


Plaits  XV. 


Cjje  Performance,  103 

Oedipus  to  leave  his  children  and  withdraw. 
It  is  a  dreadful  separation,  but  the  king's 
order  is  imperative.  So  Oedipus  tears  him- 
self away,  his  attendants  throw  open  the 
doors,  the  attendants  of  Creon  take  the  chil- 
dren by  the  hand,  and  Creon  himself  leads 
Oedipus  up  the  steps  and  into  the  palace. 
(Plate  XV.)  The  children  and  the  second 
messenger  follow ;  the  attendants  of  Oedipus 
enter  last  and  gently  close  the  doors. 

The  music  sounds  again  in  pathetic  tones, 
and  the  Coryphaeus  expresses  for  his  fellows 
the  lesson  of  life. 

"Ye  men  of  Thebes,  behold  this  Oedipus, 
Who  knew  the  famous  riddle  and  was  noblest, 
Whose  fortune  who  saw  not  with  envious  glances  1 
And,  lo  !  in  what  a  sea  of  direst  trouble 
He  now  is  plunged.     From  hence  the  lesson  learn  ye, 
To  reckon  no  man  happy  till  ye  witness 
The  closing  day  ;  until  he  pass  the  border 
Which  severs  life  from  death,  unscathed  by  sorrow."  * 

With  bowed  heads  the  old  men  of  Thebes 
retire  to  the  city,  and  the  play  is  over.    There 

*  Plumptre's  translation. 


104  &fje  performance. 

is  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  the  theatre 
rings  with  applause.  It  seems  inappropriate, 
however,  and  ceases  almost  as  suddenly  as  it 
began.  The  play  has  left  such  a  solemn  im- 
pression that  the  usual  customs  seem  unfit- 
ting, and  the  audience  disperses  quietly. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  theatre  is  in  dark- 
ness, and  the  actors  go  home  not  wholly  cer- 
tain of  the  result  of  their  long  task. 

The  newspapers  of  the  following  morning 
set  all  doubts  at  rest,  and  showed  the  fulfil- 
ment of  all  hopes. 


From  the  l<  Boston  Daily  Advertiser." 

In  all  simplicity  and  sincerity  we  say  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  the  performance  was  remarkably 
successful,  and  afforded  great  and  peculiar  pleasure 
to  a  critical  audience.  .  .  .  Here  everything  conspired 
in  a  wonderful  way,  the  drama  itself  having  such 
imaginative  vividness,  and  every  detail  of  representa- 
tion being  carried  out  with  dignity,  absolute  precis- 
ion and  accuracy,  and  with  a  wonderful  smoothness, 


8Hje  Performance.  105 

resulting  from  most  careful  preparation  under  most 
competent  and  learned  instructors.  From  the  mo- 
ment when,  near  the  close  of  the  instrumental  intro- 
duction, the  company  of  suppliants  made  their  slow- 
entrance  from  the  right,  and  passing  through  the 
orchestra  to  the  left,  mounted  the  stage  and  laid  their 
votive  offerings  on  the  altars  before  the  palace,  many 
a  spectator  must  have  forgotten  his  country  and  cen- 
tury, and  have  felt  himself  a  Greek  of  the  Greeks. 
Quite  aside,  also,  from  the  acting  and  music,  the 
great  beauty  of  the  correct  costumes,  and  the  fine 
tableaux  vivants  made  by  the  groups  of  players  was 
a  feast  to  the  eye  and  fancy  throughout  the  evening. 
The  acting  as  a  whole  was  remarkably  and  surpris- 
ingly good.  Most  of  the  players  were  only  amateurs, 
and  of  course  showed  their  want  of  professional 
training ;  but  there  was  extraordinarily  little  of  im- 
maturity in  performance,  both  as  to  quality  and 
as  to  quantity,  considering  the  circumstances  of  the 
occasion." 

From  the  Boston  " Evening  Transcript":  — 

"  The  production  of  the  Oedipus  Tyrannus  of 
Sophocles  at  Cambridge,  last  night,  was  as  bril- 
liant a  success  in  every  way  as  could  have  been 


106  £fje  performance. 

desired.  Indeed,  there  was  scarcely  room  for  any 
miscarriage,  so  carefully  and  thoroughly  had  every- 
thing been  prepared  during  the  past  six  months. 
With  a  clear  conception  as  to  what  was  to  be  done, 
with  practically  unlimited  means  at  command  for  its 
execution,  and  with  the  resources  of  the  University  in 
the  way  of  young  men  of  character  and  brain  to  draw 
on  for  talent  and  self-sacrificing  labor,  and  learned 
scholars  for  counsel  and  training,  this  triumph  was 
almost  assured  in  advance.  It  is  on  all  hands  pro- 
nounced the  most  perfect  and  worthy  reproduction 
of  Greek  drama  in  modern  times.  The  Mat  of  the 
occasion,  though  not  exceeding  its  merits,  resounds 
throughout  the  country.  The  leading  journals  have 
been  represented  at  the  last  rehearsal  and  first  per- 
formance by  special  correspondents,  and  their  elabo- 
rate accounts  have  been  printed,  accompanied  by 
editorial  comments,  showing  that  the  unique  interest 
and  importance  of  the  event  have  been  fully  appre- 
ciated beyond  the  circle  of  the  community  of  Boston 
and  Cambridge." 

From  the  "  Boston  Journal." 

"The   first  public    performance   of    the   Oedipus 
Tyrannus  of  Sophocles,  at  Sanders  Theatre,  Cam- 


Cjje  Performance.  107 

bridge,  last  evening,  was  also  the  first  performance  of 
this  play  in  its  original  language  in  recent  times,  and 
the  first  presentation  of  a  Greek  drama  in  this  coun- 
try. The  event  was  therefore  interesting  for  its 
novelty,  as  well  as  for  its  dramatic  and  scholastic 
importance.  Its  success  was  pronounced  and  instant ; 
and  indeed  it  may  be  doubted  if  a  Greek  play  has 
ever  been  so  thoroughly  well  presented  since  the 
times  and  audiences  for  which  it  was  originally 
written.  .  .  .  The  production  was  a  perfect  one  in 
every  detail,  being  throughout  consistent,  dignified, 
strong,  and  fully  accordant  in  earnest  spirit  with 
all  we  have  heretofore  conceived  of  the  realities 
of  the  Greek  stage.  .  ..  It  is  an  increasing  matter  of 
marvel  to  all  who  will  consider  it,  that  this  play  has 
ever  been  produced,  even  with  the  great  resources  at 
the  command. of  Harvard  College." 

From  the  Boston  "  Evening  Traveller  " :  — 

"  The  performance  of  the  Oedipus,  last  night,  at 
Cambridge,  brought  delight  to  an  immense  and  criti- 
cal audience,  and  was  a  surprise,  as  we  are  disposed 
to  think,  even  to  those  who  expected  most.  A  dis- 
tinguished scholar  was  heard  to  say  to  a  friend,  as 


108  8Hje  performance. 

the  great  assembly  broke  up,  —  almost  unwillingly, 
—  that  it  was  itself  an  education  to  have  witnessed 
the  spectacle.  That  was  the  feeling  certainly  among 
the  great  body  of  the  audience.  They  knew,  for  the 
first  time,  what  the  classical  tragedy  is  ;  and  entered, 
for  the  first  time,  into  the  temper  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  people  who,  in  its  day,  applauded  it  so 
eagerly." 

From  the  special  correspondent  of  the  New 
York  "  Nation  "  :  — 

"  It  was  my  good  fortune  last  summer  to  witness 
the  performance  of  the  Agamemnon  of  Aeschylus 
in  the  hall  of  Balliol  College,  and  it  is  natural  that 
on  this  occasion  my  thoughts  should  go  back  to  that 
scene,  of  which  I  endeavored  at  the  time  to  give  some 
slight  account  to  the  readers  of  the  '  Nation.'  A  com- 
parison of  the  two  performances  is  evidently  unfair. 
The  Agamemnon  and  the  Oedipus  belong  to  different 
stages  of  art.  The  articulation  of  the  Oedipus  is  com- 
plete in  itself.  The  Agamemnon  is  one  of  a  trilogy, 
and  the  choral  masses  demand  a  different  disposition. 
It  would  have  been  impossible  to  handle  them  as  Mr. 
Paine  handles  the  choruses  of  the  Oedipus,  without 


(Efje  Performance.  109 

wearying  the  audience  and  dulling  the  edge  of  the 
action.  Parts  of  them  were  sung,  parts  declaimed, 
now  in  unison,  now  by  single  choreutai,  and  a  certain 
dramatic  effect  was  thus  attained,  and  a  far  closer 
unity  of  actors  and  chorus  than  was  possible  in  the 
Harvard  rendering  of  the  Oedipus.  The  antique 
character  was  more  seriously  compromised,  but  the 
vitality  was  more  tense.  Nor  would  it  be  fair  to 
compare  the  external  conditions.  The  Oxford  men 
had  made  no  long  and  elaborate  preparation.  The 
stage  appliances  were  simple  in  the  extreme.  Not 
half  as  many  shillings  were  spent  at  Oxford  as  dol- 
lars at  Harvard.  A  superb  young  undergraduate 
was  busy  stencilling  a  part  of  the  palace  roof  of  the 
Atreidae  a  couple  of  hours  before  the  performance 
began.  The  costumes  were  not  elaborate ;  there 
was  no  '  book  of  the  opera,'  no  distinct  effort  to 
be  scholarly  or  archaeological ;  and  yet  it  was  a 
marked  success,  —  a  success  that  repeated  itself  at 
Harrow,  at  Eton,  in  London.  It  is  a  beautiful  thing 
to  remeimber,  with  all  its  youthful  dash  and  zest. 
Carefully  planned,  thoroughly  studied,  wrought  out 
with  minute  attention  to  such  details  as  fell  within 
the  limits,  our  Harvard  Oedipus  was  by  far  the  more 


110  &fje  performance. 

finished  piece  of  work,  and  the  memory  of  it  is  a  more 
brilliant  picture." 

From  the  "  New  York  Times  "  :  — 

"  The  brilliant  success  of  this  attempt  to  put  before 
an  American  audience  a  Greek  tragedy  in  its  original 
setting  is  a  deserved  reward  for  the  unsparing  labor 
and  zeal  of  those  who  have  taken  part  in  the  enter- 
prise." 

From  the  New  York  "  Christian  Union." 

"  The  brilliant  audiences,  representative  of  the  best 
American  scholarship,  which  have  gathered  here, 
coming  with  mingled  feelings  of  curiosity  and  schol- 
arly interest  to  be  amused  and  entertained  by  a 
representation  of  classic  life,  have  been  startled  at 
first  by  the  perfect  and  beautiful  movement  of  the 
drama,  and  then  irresistibly  held  in  breathless  atten- 
tion upon  the  unfolding  of  a  tragedy  so  full  of 
human  interest  that,  although  spoken  m  a  dead 
language,  it  is  as  contemporaneous  as  Hamlet  or 
Faust." 


Cfje  Performance.  Ill 

From  the  "  Springfield  Eepublican  "  :  — 

"  The  Harvard  students  made  of  the  Oedipus  Ty- 
rannus  to-night  something  more  than  a  play  for  the 
closet  and  class-room.  Their  thoroughly  dramatic 
interpretation  of  the  tragedy  gave  it  a  living  and 
human  interest,  and  they  had  the  sympathy  and 
fixed  attention  of  every  person  from  first  to  last. 
The  representation  was  a  wonderfully  accurate  copy 
of  Attic  models.  In  the  pronunciation  of  the  lan- 
guage, costumes,  stage  scenery,  and  choral  effects, 
it  was  doubtless  the  most  faithful  reproduction  of  a 
play  in  the  Dionysiac  Theatre,  at  Athens,  2300  years 
ago,  that  has  ever  been  attempted  in  modern  times." 

From  the  Boston  "  Evening  Transcript "  of 
a  later  date  :  — 

"  The  Greek  play  at  Harvard  is  to  be  performed 
for  the  last  time  this  evening.  The  premium  on  the 
price  of  the  seats  shows  the  eagerness  to  witness  this 
rare,  noble,  and  beautiful  effort  in  art.  It  seems  a 
pity  that  all  is  to  be  a  memory  only  after  this  per- 
formance, and  that  so  complete  and  worthy  a  presen- 
tation of  the  great  Greek  drama  will  never  be  seen 
again,  by  this  generation,  at  least.     Yet  the  public  of 


112 


8tfje  Performance, 


Boston,  whose  fame  as  an  art  centre  is  still  further 
magnified  to  the  world  by  the  triumph  at  the  Har- 
vard theatre,  will  not  be  unreasonable  or  ungrateful. 
It  has  only  thanks  and  honor  for  the  generous  youths 
and  the  accomplished  men  who  have  given  so  much 
wearing  labor  to  the  production  that  there  is  no  one 
of  them  but  says  that,  if  it  were  to  be  done  over 
again,  no  possible  rewards  would  tempt  him  to  en- 
gage in  it." 


VI. 


HE  Harvard  Greek  play  is  over; 
the  labors  of  many  months  have 
been  brought  to  a  conclusion  more 
successful  than  any  one  had  hoped;  there 
is  everything  to  remember  with  pride,  and 
little  or  nothing  to  regret.  In  looking  back 
one  recalls  with  pleasure  the  devotion  of 
those  who  took  charge,  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  performers,  and  the  quick  response  of  the 
public,  An  impulse  has  been  given  to  clas- 
sical studies,  and  already  two  Greek  plays 
are  announced  from  other  colleges.  There 
is  no  ground  for  fear  that  the  event  will  be 
forgotten.  To  those  who  witnessed  the  play, 
it  will  remain  a  memorable  incident ;  to  those 


114  En  Retrospect 

who  made  the  play,  it  will  constitute  one  of 
the  privileges  of  life. 

There  is,  however,  a  feature  of  the  play 
which  is  of  more  importance  than  all  its 
pleasing  memories.  Athenae  omnium  doctri- 
narum  inventrices,  said  the  Roman  orator ;  and 
among  these  the  most  prominent  is  a  cer- 
tain doctrina  vivendi,  which  was  the  mother 
of  all  the  excellences  of  that  glorious  age. 
In  the  play  of  Oedipus  the  King  this  doctrine 
is  presented  by  a  master's  hand,  and  though 
the  labor  of  production  was  so  absorbing, 
and  though  the  performance  was  so  dazzling, 
yet  the  underlying  moral  significance  did 
not  go  unheeded. 

The  Oedipus  is  a  powerful  exhibition  of 
the  fact  that  our  lives  "  do  ride  upon  a  dial's 
point,"  Who  could  have  foreseen  the  woes 
of  Oedipus  ?  As  little  can  any  man  foresee 
his  own.  The  sword  is  hanging,  the  shears 
of  the  weird  sisters  are  moving  across  the 
web,  the  message  is  preparing,  and  no  man 


En  Eetrospect.  115 

knows  when  or  how  it  shall  be  delivered. 
But  there  is  a  deeper  moral  in  the  play 
than  this  universal  truth.  Each  man  bears 
the  responsibility  not  only  of  his  own  deeds, 
but  also  of  the  deeds  of  a  long  line  of  an- 
cestors. "  God  does  not  pay  at  the  end  of 
every  day,  my  Lord  Cardinal,"  was  said  to 
Richelieu  by  one  of  his  victims,  "  but  at 
the  end  God  pays."  Every  sin  brings  suf- 
fering, but  not  to  the  doer  alone.  This  is 
the  great  moral  basis  of  life,  and  it  is  a  fact 
which  will  be  enforced  by  the  new  ethics  as  it 
never  was  by  the  old.  Some  one  has  wittily 
said  that  we  may  be  the  sons  of  our  grand- 
fathers ;  we  certainly  bear  the  consequences 
of  their  sins.  Thebes  weeps  for  the  sins  of 
her  rulers.  The  suffering  does  not  always 
fall  upon  the  doer  of  the  sin,  but  fall  it  does 
somewhere,  and  life  would  be  a  mockery 
if  anything  could  be  found  to  break  the  fall. 
There  may  be  delay,  there  may  be  apparent 
miscarriage,  but  the  sequence  is  inevitable. 


116  En  ftetrogpect. 

"  Sorrow  tracketh  wrong 
As  echo  follows  song, 
On,  on  for  ever." 

To  trace  the  working  of  the  curse  in  the 
family  of  Laius  is  enough  to  cause  a  shud- 
der of  apprehension,  for  the  experience  of 
most  men  furnishes  something  similar  at 
least  in  kind. 

It  is  obviously  just  to  the  fathers  that  their 
sins  should  be  visited  upon  their  children,  but 
it  is  equally  clear  that  it  is  hard  upon  the 
children.  The  consequences  of  sin  are  as 
careless  of  their  object  as  is  the  rain.  Oedi- 
pus was  essentially  an  innocent  man.  To  do 
right  is  not  sufficient  to  prevent  suffering,  if 
some  one  before  us  has  done  wrong.  This 
is  a  fact  painful  to  face,  but  out  of  the  pain 
grows  the  lesson.  The  laws  which  work  for 
the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  num- 
ber—  if,  indeed,  there  be  such  laws  —  are 
not  considerate  of  the  happiness  of  any  in- 
dividual.    This  is  the  truth  in  the  doctrine 


En  Eetrospect.  117 

of  fate  :  every  sin  committed  will  be  expi- 
ated to  the  full  by  the  innocent  perhaps,  by 
the  guilty  assuredly.  The  Greek  recognition 
of  this  supreme  fact  is  shown  in  the  instant 
acceptance  by  Oedipus  of  the  punishment  of 
sins  in  which  he  had  no  part.  He  is  a  man, 
and  he  is  willing  to  share  the  lot  of  human- 
ity. It  is  this  which  redeems  him  from  his 
passion  in  the  murder  of  Laius  and  the  injus- 
tice toward  Creon  ;  it  is  this  which  lifts  him 
to  a  truly  tragic  place,  and  entitles  him  to 
the  sympathies  of  mankind. 

The  performance  of  a  Greek  tragedy  to- 
day has  two  aspects,  —  the  one,  that  of  a 
drama  —  Spa/xa  meaning  a  great  action  — 
exhibiting  in  unmistakable  outlines  the  in- 
flexibility of  the  moral  law ;  the  other,  that 
of  an  undertaking  with  no  significance  beyond 
its  interest.  Since  the  circumstances  of  the 
present  day  are  such  as  are  likely  to  render 
the  latter  aspect  the  more  common  one,  this 


118 


En  Eetrospect. 


account  of  the  Harvard  Greek  play  may  be 
closed  with  an  appeal. 

"  Be  otherwise  instructed,  you ! 
And  preferably  ponder,  ere  ye  pass, 
Each  incident  of  this  strange  human  play." 


appentiijc  !. 


THE  OEDIPUS  TYEANNUS    OF  SOPHOCLES 

will  be  performed  in  the  original  Greek  at  Harvard 
University,  in  the  Sanders  Theatre,  on  the  eve- 
nings of  May  17,  19,  and  20.  The  part  of  Oedipus 
will  be  taken  by  Mr.  George  Eiddle,  instructor  in 
Elocution,  and  the  other  parts  by  students  of  the 
University.  The  music  for  the  choruses  has  been 
composed  for  this  performance  by  Professor  J.  K. 
Paine  ;  and  the  choral  odes  will  be  sung  by  a  dra- 
matic chorus  of  fifteen  students,  assisted  by  a  supple- 
mentary chorus  composed  chiefly  of  graduates,  with 
orchestral  accompaniment. 

Five  hundred  tickets  for  the  first  performance,  at 
$3.00  each,  and  eight  hundred  for  each  of  the  other 
performances,  at  $2.00  each,  will  be  offered  to  the 
public.  Each  ticket  will  entitle  the  holder  to  a  re- 
served seat. 


120  8%e  Circular  of  tfje  Committee. 

Of  these  tickets  a  number  not  exceeding  100  for 
the  first  evening  and  200  for  each  of  the  succeeding 
evenings  will  be  assigned  by  the  committee  to  per- 
sons living  in  places  distant  from  Cambridge.  Appli- 
cations for  these  may  be  made  to  Mr.  C.  W.  Sever, 
University  Bookstore,  Cambridge,  and  must  be  re- 
ceived by  him  on  or  before  March  25.  These  tick- 
ets will  be  assigned  by  lot,  and  adjacent  seats  (when 
desired)  will  be  given  to  each  applicant.  If  more 
tickets  are  asked  for  than  can  be  assigned  in  this 
way,  the  committee  will  distribute  those  which  are 
at  their  disposal  to  the  applicants  according  to  their 
judgment.  All  applicants  will  be  informed  immedi- 
ately by  mail  of  the  number  of  tickets  assigned  them ; 
and  payment  for  the  tickets  will  be  deferred  until 
such  notice  is  received. 

The  regular  sale  of  tickets  will  begin  at  the  Uni- 
versity Bookstore  iu  Cambridge,  and  at  146  Tremont 
Street  in  Boston,  on  Monday,  April  4,  at  10  A.M. 

The  text  of  the  Oedipus  Tyrannus,  in  Greek  and 
English,  will  be  for  sale  at  both  places  at  which  tick- 
ets are  sold ;  and  will  be  sent  by  mail  to  any  address. 
Price,  50  cents ;  by  mail,  60  cents. 

The  music  of  the  choruses,  composed  by  Professor 


Ejje  Circular  of  tfje  Committee.  121 

Paine,  with  Greek  and  English  words  and  piano  ac- 
companiment, will  be  published  March  30  by  Mr. 
Arthur  P.  Schmidt,  146  Tremont  Street,  Boston,  who 
will  send  it  by  mail  on  receipt  of  the  price,  SI. 25. 

W.  W.  GOODWIN,  ^      Committee 

J.  W.  WHITE,  of 

J.  K.  PAINE,  j  Arrangements. 

Harvard  University, 
March  16,  1881. 


appenDi?  2 


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fcrap  fjfjievoi  Atos, 
7rap6ivov  <£<Aas  </>iA.oi, 

<T(0^>pOVOWT€9    £V    ^(pOVO). 

IlaXXaSos  8'  v7ro  xrepois 
ovras  a^crat  -rrarrip. 


SO*OKAEOT2 

OIAinOTS    TTPANN02 

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tjj  e^Sofjij}  ewl  Sena  toO  ©apyTjAioifOs  /utjvos,  erei  /AilllA,  ical  aidis 

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Kax  Te\evTalov  rfj  rerpabi  4>0Cvovtos. 

TA   TOT  APAMATOS   IIP02GIIA. 
OlSLirovs,  G^jSaiW  fiaatXevs  ....       GEORGE  ElDDLE. 
'Iepei>$  Aids      .         .         .         .  William  Hobbs  Manning. 

Kpiuu,   &8e\<pos  'loKdarrjs       ....      Henry  Norman. 

Teipealas,  fiavns  rv<p\6$ CURTIS  GUILD. 

'Iok&o-tt),    9r)pai<av  (iaalXeia  .  LEONARD   ECKSTEIN  OPDYCKE. 

"AyyeXos  Koplvdios       .        .  Arthur  Wellington  Roberts. 

Oep&Truv   Aatov    .           .           .           .          GARDINER  MARTIN   LANE. 
'E£dyye\os Owen  WlSTER. 

kq<i>a  nposnnA. 
'Ak6\ov0oi  OISLtoBos        .        .     J.  R.  Coolidge,  E.  J.  Wendell. 

'Ak6\ov0oi  'Iox&<TTr)S     .  .  J.  J.  GllEENOUGH,    W.  L.  PUTNAM. 

'Ak6\ov0oi  KptovTos  .        .        .        .       G.  P.  Keith,  J.  Lee. 

Ileus  Tetpeaiav  efodywv C.  H.  GOODWIN. 

'AmydvTj E.  MANNING. 

'1 07^1/77 J.  K.  Whittemore. 

'I/c^rai. — G.  P.  Keith,  G.  D.  Markham  (leprjs).  W.  H.  Herrick, 
J.  Lee,  E.  Lovering,  H.  Putnam,  L.  A.  Shaw,  C.  M. 
Walsh  (rjdeoi  Xe/croi).  C.  H.  Goodwin,  E.  Manning, 
R.  Manning,  W.  Merrill,  E.  R.  Thayer,  J.  K.  Whit- 
temore (7rcu5es). 


XOPOS    TEPONTflN  0HBAK2X. 

Kopv(f>a2os Louis  Butler  McCagg. 

2u7xo/3eur7js  kv  t$  Tplr<$  aTaai^  fj.ov(j)5u>v  .  George  Laurie  Osgood. 

XopevraL  — 

N.  M.  Brigham,  Marshall  H.  Cushing,  Charles  S.  Hamlin, 

Frederick  R.  Burton,  Wendell  P.  Davis,        Jared  S.  How, 
Henry  G.  Chapin,         Morris  Earle,  Howard  Lilienthal, 

Sumner  Coolidge,         Percival  J.  Eaton,       Charles  F.  Mason, 
Edward  P.  Mason,  Gustavus  Tuckerman. 


Xopo$ida<TKa\os  6  r&s  avXcpdias  iroL-qaas      .      John  KNOWLES  Paine. 


'TTro/3oXei/s George  L.  Kittredge. 


*H  pev  ffKTjvr]  tov  Spd/xaros  irpo  t&v  fiaviXeiojv  ev  GtJ/Scus  reus  Boioj- 
tlkcus  virdKeLTai.  'O  5e  %op6s  crvv^aTTjKev  e/c  Qr](3ala}t>  yepbvrwv.  Ilpo- 
Xoyi^ei  5'  018lttovs. 

'Aj-iovtriv  oi  eTrifxe\7jTal  Trdvras  roi/s  dewpovvras  8ia/xiveiv  KaOrj/x^uovs 
£ws  av  reXevTrjOwaiv  ol  i^odioc  vdfioc.  Ei70i)s  5'  qadivros  rod  rerdprov 
CTacrlfAov  (tcb  ye  veal  f3p  or  dv,  k.t.€.)  dvdiravais  yevfjaerai.  roiis  ii-ie"  vat 
pov\o fie1 vols.     Mera  5e  ravra  al  dvpat  KenXeio-ovTai. 

Merot  rrjv  deav  #/Aa£cu  iinro(Ti.8rjpodpoixLKal  erotficu  tffOVTai  rots  ^s 
&(Ttv  woperjeadai  p.e'XXovo-tv. 


Mere(f>pda6-q  evia  xapif  twv  jolt)  e\\rivi£6vT<av  — 

The  spectators  are  urgently  requested  to  remain  seated  until  the  end  of  the 
orchestral  postlude.  A  short  pause  will  be  made  after  the  last  choral  song 
(Lot  yeveal  /Spoiw,  0  tribes  of  living  men,  etc.)  for  the  convenience  of  those  who 
wish  to  leave  the  theatre,  and  the  doors  will  then  remain  closed  until  the  end 
of  the  performance. 

Horse-cars  will  be  ready  after  the  performance  for  those  who  wish  to  go  to 
Boston. 

OviAowes  TV7rois  eypaufiav. 


9ppentw  3 


A    PAETIAL    BIBLIOGEAPHY    OF    THE 
HAEVAED   GEEEK   PLAY. 


[The  names  of  the  writers  are  given  when  known.    An  asterisk  indicates 
that  the  date  is  given  approximately.] 


Accounts  previous  to  the  performances  :  — 

Boston  Sunday  Herald.     By  H.  Norman     .         .  Mar.  27 
New  York  Herald.     By  H.  Norman        .         .       Apr.     1 

"         "     Evening  Post "16 

Boston  Daily  Advertiser May     2 

Boston   Daily   Advertiser.     An   account  of    the 

music  by  G.  A.  Burdett "5 

Boston  Daily  Advertiser .         .         .         .         .         "11 

Chicago  Tribune* "14 

The  Harvard  Register.     By  Prof.  J.  W.  White       May 
Boston  Journal May  17 

"        Post 

"        Traveller " 

Philadelphia  Telegraph 

Brooklyn  Times " 

The  Nation.     By   Prof.    B.    L.    Gildersleeve   of 

Johns  Hopkins  University  " 


128 


&  Bfolwpapljg  of  tjje  Pag. 


Reports  of  the  Rehearsal  :  — 
New  York  Sun  . 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser 
"        Transcript 
Herald 
Globe       . 
New  York  Tribune 
"        "     Evening  Post     . 
Reports  of  the  Performance  :  — 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser 
Herald  . 
Journal 
Post 
Globe 
Transcript 
Traveller   . 
New  York  Sun   . 
"         "     Times     . 
"        "     World.     By  F.  Marion  Crawford 

"     Herald  .... 
"        "     Courier  (criticism  of  the 
Chicago  Tribune      ... 
Baltimore  Sun      .... 
Harvard  Lampoon  f 
New  Haven  Union 
Philadelphia  Bulletin 
Pittsburg  Dispatch 
Springfield  Republican*  . 


music) 


May  15 
May  16 


May  18 


May  19 


f  With  this  exception  the  Harvard  papers  are  ijot  mentioned,  as 
references  to  the  play  were  contained  in  almost  every  issue  during 
April  and  May.     See  the  Echo,  Crimson,  Advocate,  and  Lampoon. 


a  13ibltostapJ)2  <rf  tfie  Pag-  129 

Worcester  Spy Ma^  19 

New  York  Star 

Philadelphia  News* 

New  Haven  Palladium* 

Providence  Journal* 

Wilmington  (Del.)  Every  Evening*        .         .        May  21 

Literary  World 

The   New  York  Critic.     By  Mrs.   Julia  Ward 

u 
Howe 

New    York    Independent.       By    Rev.    Kinsley 

Twining May  22 

Providence  Press* 

Hartford  Courant May   23 

Brooklyn  Eagle  *  By  Rev.  J.  W.  Chadwick  .  "  24 
New  York  Christian  Union.  By  H.  W.  Mabie  .  May  25 
Boston  Congregationalist  .... 

The  Nation.     By   Prof.    B.    L.   Gildersleeve  of 

Johns  Hopkins  University        ....  May  26 
Harper's  Weekly,  with  six  illustrations.    By  Prof. 

Louis  Dyer MaJ  28 

Incidental  discussions  of  the  play  :  — 

Boston  Advertiser        ....         May  18  and  19 

"       Transcript May  2() 

......"       21 

Literary  World June    4 


The  Atlantic  Monthly.     By  Prof.  C.  E.  Norton     .    July,  1881 
The  Century  Magazine.     An  account  of  the  costumes, 

by  F.  D.  Millet  .  ^^^~%~^gi^er>  1881 

1^ 


(3) 


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